


Pretty Kitty

by stratumgermanitivum



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Animal Traits, Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, Cat/Human Hybrids, Catboys & Catgirls, Consent Issues, Dubious Consent, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, M/M, Murder Husbands Big Bang, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Slavery, Sexual Tension, Slavery, consent issues due to power dynamics but everyone wants it i promise, mhbb2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:54:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 42,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21514108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stratumgermanitivum/pseuds/stratumgermanitivum
Summary: Hannibal had never wanted a pet, of any kind. They required too much attention, regular animals because of their helplessness, and hybrid Pets because of their need for social interaction. They’d been created to be needy things, bred to stroke the egos of their masters by demanding attention and offering it up in return. Hannibal hadn’t the patience for it.So, when he woke on a Tuesday morning to the sound of a crash from the kitchen, without the accompanying scurry of fleeing footsteps, Hannibal knew to be on the alert.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 183
Kudos: 1240
Collections: MHBB2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to Fishie for betareading this for me, I could not have done it without you! And thank you to Krey for the beautiful banner artwork!

Hannibal had never wanted a pet, of any kind. They required too much attention, regular animals because of their helplessness, and hybrid Pets because of their need for social interaction. They’d been created to be needy things, bred to stroke the egos of their masters by demanding attention and offering it up in return. Hannibal hadn’t the patience for it.

So, when he woke on a Tuesday morning to the sound of a crash from the kitchen, without the accompanying scurry of fleeing footsteps, Hannibal knew to be on the alert.

No robber would be so brazen as to stay in the house after such a racket, nor to create another thud, and then another. They also did not typically rob people in the daylight hours. Hannibal was not nearly as surprised as he perhaps should have been, when he walked past the broken kitchen window and found the Cat in the pantry.

The Cat was tall, nearing Hannibal’s height. His tail poked out from the waistband of pants that had clearly been tailored to a human, baggy and ratty, hanging low on the Cat’s hips. His ears were chocolate brown, poking out from a head of overgrown curls the same color. He was underweight and under-groomed, dirt on his cheek illuminated by the light of the glass-doored fridge as he rummaged around inside it.

“No,” the Cat muttered, tossing a package of meat to the floor, “No, no…” His nose twitched as he searched for whatever had drawn him here. Hannibal kept his meat organized, and from the back of the fridge, the Cat pulled the freshest sealed package of liver. “Yesss…” He hissed, gnawing at the plastic coating with sharp fangs. His tail twitched in displeasure when his teeth failed to open the package promptly. Hannibal cleared his throat.

“Would you like a pair of scissors?” He asked with a raised eyebrow. The cat startled, the soft fur of his ears and tail pricking up as he skittered back across the floor to dive under the work table with his prize. His eyes were blue, glinting in the shadows with the reflected glow he’d inherited from his animal DNA. Hannibal knelt down but did not come closer. The Cat growled anyway, shoving the meat behind him and baring his fangs.

“I’m not going to take it from you,” Hannibal promised, “But it’s very rude to break into someone’s kitchen.”

“I’m hungry,” The Cat said defensively, but his eyes darted away from Hannibal’s, an uneasy guilt settling over him.

“And you shall eat,” Hannibal promised. It was kinder than he would have been to any human who broke into his home, but Pets without owners had no way to provide for themselves, and he could be sympathetic to that. In fact, the Cat should have been in a shelter, if he was without a master, but questions could come later, when he could coax the scrawny thing out from under his work table. “But first, tell me how you got in. I keep the pantry locked.”

Another fresh wave of guilt crossed fair features. The Cat pulled a twisted metal pick from his pocket, holding it out just long enough for Hannibal to make note of it before concealing it again.

“I see,” Hannibal said, “Clever thing.”

Cats were known to preen under praise, to be greedy, vain little creatures, but Hannibal’s words drew a curl to this Cat’s lips. “I’m not a  _ thing _ ,” He hissed, backing further into the wall. Hannibal tried not to let his frustration show.

“My apologies,” He said, “Might I ask your name, then? I’m Hannibal.” He held out a hand, as if to shake. The Cat sniffed suspiciously and did not take it, though he did relax his shoulders a bit at the apology.

“Will,” The Cat said, “My name is Will.”

“Will,” Hannibal said in a soothing voice that had calmed many a patient, “I can open the liver for you, if you like.”

Will did not stop glaring at him, as if perhaps he might scare Hannibal off with the force of his stony stare. When that failed to net a response, he pulled the liver from behind his back and shoved it across the floor towards Hannibal.

Hannibal moved slowly about the pantry, keeping himself between the Cat and the door. He pulled a pair of kitchen scissors from a nearby drawer and sliced open the vacuum sealed plastic. Dropping to his knees in front of the workbench, he averted his eyes politely as he held out the liver.

There was a pause, silent but for Will’s shaky, nervous breathing. Then the liver was snatched roughly from Hannibal’s hands, a dull thunk sounding throughout the room as the Cat threw himself back against the wall.

Hannibal would have preferred to cook for a guest, even an uninvited Pet, but Will ate the liver in huge, greedy bites, looking for all the world as if he’d never had a tastier meal. His hands and face were damp with juices when he was finished, and he licked at his sticky skin with a smooth, human tongue. There was little to mark him as a Cat, but for the ears and tail, and that his fangs and nails were both sharper and harder than a humans might be. Some Pets were bred with more animalistic features, fur and whiskers and shorter statures. Pets that were as human as Will were often bred for an entirely different type of service, and Hannibal had to admit he was beautiful, even dirty as he was. Someone would surely be missing him.

“Have you gotten lost, Will?” He asked, opening up another packet, a kidney this time. He crept a little closer, stopping only when Will began to grumble in warning. Will was a bit gentler in his snatching, his desperation eased by the knowledge that he could eat his fill without Hannibal taking anything back. He took smaller, neater bites, though he still looked entirely unbothered by the texture and temperature of raw offal.

“Not lost,” Will insisted between bites, “I know exactly where I am, I read the street signs.”

A Pet who could read was a rarity indeed, but there was no collar around Will’s neck, nor any sort of tan line or indentation that might have come from one. Hannibal inched a bit closer. “And where is it you are supposed to be?”

This was the wrong question. Will’s guard went back up. He dropped the last few bites of kidney, choosing instead to back himself further into the corner, pressed against it and as far from Hannibal as he could get.

“Nowhere,” He said, “No one owns me.”

Hannibal found that very hard to believe, but the shelter would take Will either way. If someone was looking for him, it could be their responsibility, rather than Hannibal’s.

“Come out of there, Will,” Hannibal said, “We’ll get this sorted out. You must be thirsty. I can offer you some water.”

What little trust the meat may have earned him was gone. Will shifted onto all fours, eyes darting between Hannibal and the door. Hannibal moved to make the opening wider, pretending to lose his balance. The Cat took the bait, scrambling for the open pantry door. As he passed, Hannibal lunged, clamping his hand down over the back of Will’s neck and pinching hard.

Scruffing was an old instinct in regular cats, completely unnecessary in their hybrid counterparts. It had been bred into them anyway, an easy way to soothe them. Will’s entire body went stiff, freezing in place even as he began to whine in distress.

“Hush now,” Hannibal scolded, “You can’t run around forever, the streets are no place for a Pet.”

_ Nor is the pantry of the Chesapeake Ripper _ , Hannibal thought wryly. It would, perhaps, have been easier to kill Will, but unlike Hannibal’s usual victims, Pets could not be held responsible for their actions. Hannibal typically hunted only those who could understand their crimes.

In the end, Hannibal had to bind Will’s hands with the tie of his bathrobe to keep him still. He didn’t possess any of the odds and ends that would make Pet transport easier, no leashes or harnesses or scruffing collars. They even made crates sized for hybrids, though Hannibal found them to be clunky, ungainly things. No, the bathrobe tie would have to do. Hannibal locked him in the pantry long enough to dress himself, then returned and hoisted Will over his shoulder. Ignoring the Cat’s yowling and thrashing, Hannibal laid Will out in the backseat of his car and spent the 20-minute drive to the shelter trying to rearrange his morning appointments, ignoring the glares and unhappy yowling emanating from the backseat.

If nothing else, Will seemed relieved to be freed from the car when they arrived. He slumped over Hannibal’s shoulder with a small whine and did not kick half as much as he had back at the house.

“Settle,” Hannibal told him, settling him into a large, overly-stuffed chair in the corner, specifically intended for Pets. He secured the loose end of the bathrobe tie to the end table next to it. Will huffed through his nose and kicked out towards Hannibal’s ankle as he walked away. Hannibal, expecting such a fuss, dodged it neatly.

The woman at the counter watched them both with interest. “We sell equipment if you need a more… appropriate leash for your Kitty.”

“He’s not mine,” Hannibal assured her, “He’s a stray. I found him wandering my kitchen this morning. I was hoping I could hand him over to you.”

The woman looked from Hannibal to Will. A sudden comprehension came over her. “Oh,” She said, “Will!”

“You know him?” Hannibal asked. The woman nodded hesitantly.

“You should talk to Dr. Heller,” She said, “Let me go get him for you.”

“That would be wonderful, thank you.”

Dr. Heller turned out to be a tall, thin man with salt-and-pepper hair and a grandfatherly smile. That smile disappeared the second he laid eyes on Will. “Oh, not  _ you _ again.”

Hannibal turned a curious gaze on Will, who had a look of slightly sheepish pride about him. He avoided Hannibal’s gaze, squirming uncomfortably on his cushioned seat. Hannibal turned back to the doctor, who had a sour look on his face.

“We’ve placed this one six times,” The doctor said. “Six! I thought we were rid of him for good, last time.”

“The Rheese’s called last week,” The woman behind the desk supplied helpfully, “They said he ran off, and if we found him, they didn’t want him back.”

Dr. Heller groaned, carding his hand through his hair.

“If he’s going to be a problem…” Hannibal trailed off. There were no other shelters within a reasonable distance, and Dr. Heller seemed to come to the same conclusion.

“No,” The doctor said with an aggravated sigh, “No, might as well bring him back. Do you mind? He never goes easy for me.”

Hannibal had come this far, and had nowhere else to be until the afternoon. He sighed, hoisting Will up and carrying him through the door to the exam room. Once the door was locked behind them all, he freed Will’s hands, setting him down on the thick metal table. Will scurried away from him, curling into a ball with his knees to his chest and his ears tucked flat against his skull. His tail flicked back and forth, in an agitated rhythm. Dr. Heller eyed Hannibal’s bathrobe tie as if he was considering asking for it himself. Hannibal tucked it into his coat pocket. Will seemed infinitely more malleable now that they were in a secure room.

Dr. Heller’s hands fluttered over his instruments. He seemed hesitant to approach Will, a hesitance that turned out to be well-founded when Will lashed out at his stethoscope, claws sharp and dirty from his time on the streets.

“Come on, Will,” Dr. Heller begged, “You know the routine. You’ve been out on the streets for days, you’ve got to let me check you out.”

The intelligent creature who’d spoken to Hannibal in his pantry seemed to have vanished. In his place was a feral thing, wild and furious. Will hissed, long and loud through his teeth, and smacked at the doctor again.

“D’you mind?” Dr. Heller asked desperately. Hannibal sighed, stepping up alongside Will and pulling his wrists back and out of the way. Will panicked, thrashing in his grip. Dr. Heller stepped in between his thighs, out of range of Will’s flailing feet, and checked his heartbeat, his lungs, ears, eyes, and even, with some difficulty, his fangs. The second Hannibal released him, Will was off like a shot, crawling under the bench seat along the side of the room, spine pressed against the cinderblock wall. Hannibal politely averted his eyes. In his opinion, Will calmed much faster if he felt unobserved.

“If there’s nothing else you need from me, I should really be on my way.”

Dr. Heller hesitated. He looked from Will to Hannibal, and Hannibal realized with a growing resignation that he was not likely to make his afternoon appointments, either.

“Can I talk to you outside, mister…?”

“Doctor,” Hannibal corrected, “Dr. Hannibal Lecter. Lead the way.”

They left Will alone, under the bench. The second they shut the door behind them, an ominous crash rang out from the sealed examination room. Dr. Heller winced.

“As you’ve seen,” Dr. Heller began, “Will has a certain… temperament.”

Hannibal had, in fact, noticed. Privately, he suspected much of Will’s temper came from the way Dr. Heller and his associate insisted on talking about him as if he didn’t speak English. As he didn’t particularly care how Dr. Heller ran his shelter, Hannibal kept that thought to himself.

“He’s a bit aggressive,” Hannibal agreed, his tone mild. He knew very well where this was going.

“He’s attacked three of his past owners,” Dr. Heller admitted, “One to the point of needing stitches, and there’s no record of what he got up to before he came to us. He runs off every chance he gets, will not consent to be pet or handled, and pretends he doesn’t speak when we try to engage him in conversation.”

Dr. Heller was not doing a very good job of making his point, to an ordinary man. Hannibal was not an ordinary man. He’d latched on to the first comment, that of the attacks. Pets were not known to be violent. Even those who’d been the victim of some trauma or abuse tended to be more fearful than vicious. It was all part of the breeding, keeping mild traits going and ending any lines that started to grow out of hand. But nature could only influence so much. Hannibal wondered what environment Will had come from, to grow so violent beyond his natural design.

“And despite all that,” Dr. Heller continued, glancing hopefully towards Hannibal, “I  _ like _ the feral little thing.”

Hannibal did not point out that, had Will stood straight and still, he would have been taller than Dr. Heller. Dr. Heller seemed to have found his stride, gesturing animatedly towards the locked door as he spoke. “He’s handsome, he’s intelligent, and he’s got more attitude than any other Cat I’ve seen, Hybrid or otherwise. He’d be a great Pet, if he was just a little more trusting, and it pains me to think of something bad happening to him.”

At this point, he gave Hannibal another hopeful look. The exam room emitted another ominous crash, followed by a rattling sound. “Oh  _ damn _ ,” Dr. Heller said, “That’ll be the treat jar.” He sighed, dropping his head into his hands. “How do I put this delicately? Will won’t be placed again. He’s been returned too many times. He may be seen as defective.”

Hybrid Pets did not have ‘jail’, or any sort of legal punishment. They were seen as being unable to truly comprehend the consequences of their actions, nor able to resist the natural instincts they’d been designed with. As more animal than man, they could hardly be held responsible for the results of trauma or bad breeding. It was the owners who were held responsible, if they failed to train a Pet properly. Still, shelters were only meant to be temporary homes. They were not equipped to hold a Pet for the duration of a human lifetime, which was why Pets were usually bred on demand by licensed breeders, rather than at home the natural way. A Pet who could not be placed was faulty, a drain on resources. A  _ violent _ Pet even more so. It would be the more humane thing, really, to put them down, rather than leave them to roam the streets.

Hannibal hesitated.

He’d ended his fair share of lives, of course, and would end many more before his own life was done. But there was something about this creature, vicious and intelligent, clearly terrified yet still willing to stare down any who might offer him help.

Will would not allow himself to be put down, of that, Hannibal had no doubt. He would be out on the streets again in no time at all, scrounging for food and breaking into homes. Whatever the cost of getting there, Will would break free. He was resourceful, and as violent as he was beautiful. There was something dark about his eyes. He was… Interesting.

Hannibal made his decision.

“Then he will have to come home with me.”

Dr. Heller grinned, wide and satisfied. “Excellent,” He said, “Do you have any other Hybrids at home?”

“Will would be my first. I don’t keep pets of either kind.”

“Well as a token of good faith, we’ll send you home with a starter kit. I’ll have Veronica pack it up for you. And should the arrangement work out, your first check-up is on the house.”

He looked positively ecstatic, shaking Hannibal’s hand with an unnecessarily firm grasp. He glanced over Hannibal’s shoulder, a furrow growing between his eyes. “Better get some of that now, actually,” He murmured to himself.

_____

The Scruffing collar had ridges along the back that provided constant stimulation on the pressure points at the nape of a Cat’s neck. It did not paralyze Will like a proper Scruffing, but the constant rubbing kept him loose-limbed, less aggressive.

It did not do anything to his mentality, however. He looked at Hannibal with furious eyes as Hannibal tucked him into the backseat again, placing the box of treats and toys into the trunk. By the time Hannibal got into the front seat, the smell of fear had tinged the air inside the car. Upon reflection, Hannibal imagined it must be terrifying to be so out of control, but even in his terror, Will kept his stubborn glare and his muffled grumbling.

Once they were safely in the house, Will’s box deposited on the island in the kitchen, Hannibal removed the Scruffing collar. Will’s relief was palpable, as was his rage. He smacked at the collar in Hannibal’s hands. It skidded out of his grasp, across the room, and ended up somewhere under the refrigerator. Will swiped at him again, his sharp nails catching on the sleeve of Hannibal’s shirt, ripping cleanly through it. He seemed to realize this was a mistake almost immediately, and backed away from Hannibal, still defensively hunched. Hannibal sighed.

“Fear makes you rude, dear Will.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Will hissed, ears flat against his scalp. This was so blatantly untrue that Hannibal did not bother to respond to it. Instead, he reached for Will’s arm. Will bolted, scrambling backwards, keeping Hannibal in his sights as he circled the room. There were two doors out of the kitchen, but to run for either of them would have put him within Hannibal’s reach. Instead, he hid behind the island, ducking his entire body down against it. Instinct was clearly overriding intelligence; he could not possibly think Hannibal didn’t know he was there. Hannibal could hear him fidgeting, hands tapping against the linoleum floor as he attempted to wait Hannibal out.

“I just want to show you to your room, Will.” The tapping paused. One blue eye peered at Hannibal from around the island.

“My room?” Came the skeptical response.

“Yes,” Hannibal replied, “You like to nap, don’t you? Surely you’d like to spend some of those naps in a bed?” Hybrids did not  _ need _ quite as much sleep as regular cats, but they liked it, and Hannibal hoped to discourage naps in inconvenient places. He was already wondering how to Cat-proof his harpsichord.

“A  _ bed _ ,” Will repeated, and though he poked his head out a little further, he still did not sound entirely convinced. “A real bed? A  _ person’s _ bed?”

“If you really need a Hybrid’s bed from the Pet shop, I will get you one, but it seems like a waste of money when I already have a perfectly serviceable guest bedroom.”

Will’s entire upper body appeared from behind the island, accompanied by a look of disgust. “Those are over-glorified couch cushions,” He muttered, and Hannibal was inclined to agree. The other Hybrids he had met seemed to enjoy them, but he was already well aware that Will was unlike most other Hybrids. Besides, he’d yet to see one that fit with his décor. “A  _ real _ bed?” Will said again.

“Yes,” Hannibal said impatiently, “A real bed. Are you coming?”

“Don’t touch me,” Will warned. His ears were still mostly back, and his tail twitched back and forth. He skirted the edges of the room, but he would have had to pass in front of Hannibal to get to the hallway. Hannibal sighed and led the way.

Will crept along after Hannibal, crouched and quiet enough to set off instinctive alarm bells in Hannibal’s head. He’d spent a lot of time training himself to be alert, never allowing anyone to catch him unawares. Will’s presence was uncomfortable. Hannibal was beginning to regret his decision.

“Here,” Hannibal said, opening the door to the guest room. Will stilled halfway down the hall, glaring suspiciously at Hannibal until he entered the room first. Only once Hannibal had crossed the room to leave space at the door did Will finally wander in, looking around with wide eyes.

“Your bed?” He asked, glancing at the Queen mattress in its mahogany frame. He hesitated, taking a step back, away from Hannibal.

Hannibal glanced around the room. He supposed it was nice enough for a Master. It lacked the en-suite, but Will could use the bathroom in the hall. The decorations were tasteful, a painting on the wall, a lamp on the end table, crisp sheets and a dark violet comforter on the bed.

“No, Will,” Hannibal said, voice as gentle as he could make it. “ _ Your _ bed. Your room.”

“My room.” Will mouthed the words soundlessly. He looked suddenly smaller. A bit of the vicious caution had left his eyes, replaced with a hesitant wonder. Hannibal turned for the door, careful to move slowly and keep his distance.

“The bathroom is down the hall. Why don’t you have a shower?” Will was still filthy from wherever he’d been staying before he’d broken into the pantry, and Hannibal sorely wanted to burn the ratty jeans barely hanging on to his hips. They were near enough in size. Hannibal’s older things would suffice until he could get Will’s measurements without getting a handful of fangs instead.

Will nodded. He was not looking at Hannibal, though his ears twitched to follow the sound of his footsteps. Instead, he was looking at the soft pillows with something like longing.

“Shower first,” Hannibal suggested gently, “You’ll feel better, and then you can nap as long as you’d like.”

The look Will gave him was suspicious, but it was quickly crowded out by something hopeful. Will nodded, following him out the door.

Hannibal went down to the basket first. The doctor’s assistant had helpfully supplied him with everything he might need, it seemed. There was a simple, cheap collar with a vaccination tag hanging off of it, which would have to suffice until Hannibal could get something nicer with an engraved tag. A book called “Your Kitty and You,” which looked insipid but which Hannibal intended to read cover-to-cover as soon as possible, or else he suspected neither of them would survive each other. A few treats that were said to be ‘chock full of vitamins.’ Those, Hannibal tossed in the garbage. Will might need some additional supplements, but otherwise he could eat what Hannibal fed himself. A craving for meat and a lack of preference for the level of preparation did not mean Will should be made to suffer processed and mass-produced garbage.

Hannibal was rather doubtful about the toys. Will had displayed an intelligence on par with an average man his age, at the very  _ least _ , and Hannibal believed more would be revealed as Will let his guard down. He suspected dangling feathers on a string would only irritate Will. Still, it was not as if Hannibal knew very much about caring for Hybrids. Perhaps Will went absolutely nuts for laser pointers. Hannibal tucked the toys back into the box, except for the sealed package of fake mice that professed itself to be full of catnip, That, he tucked with the book until he had a better idea of what it would do to an already skittish Cat.

He brought the box of toys up to Will’s room, setting it up on his dresser. He grabbed a set of clothing from his closet, pants loose enough to allow for Will’s tail, and brought that and the collar to the bathroom.

“Will?” He called, rapping lightly on the door. The bathroom was quiet, no sound of running water, but he could hear Will shuffling around. “I’ve brought you some clean clothes.”

The lock clicked and the door creaked open . Will’s hand clutched the doorknob as if he was resisting the temptation to slam it shut in Hannibal’s face. He was bare chested and dripping, lower body wrapped in a thick towel.

“Done already?” Hannibal asked with some surprise.

Will’s ears flattened. “I don’t like bathing,” He hissed, “I get it over with quickly.”

Right, of course. Cat. Hannibal nodded his understanding. As long as Will was clean, Hannibal didn’t care if he chose not to linger under the spray. He held out the pile of clothes. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything to accommodate for your tail,” He said, “But I’m sure we can go out this week and get you some things. Once you get settled in.” He doubted Will, in all his prickliness, was quite ready for the upheaval of a busy store or tailor, not so soon after so much chaos.

Will took the clothing gingerly, but his eyes honed in on the collar in Hannibal’s hands. “No,” He growled, attempting to slam the door shut. Hannibal caught it easily. He had several pounds on Will’s malnourished form, and it was nothing to step into the bathroom, forcing Will further back into the room.

“No,” Will said again, and this time it pitched a little higher, a little more desperate. Hannibal sighed.

“I’m not doing this to hurt you, Will,” He said gently, “Licensing is required by law if I want to take you out. You want to go outside, don’t you?”

“I’m not going to wear it,” Will said, and he threw the clothes aside to free his sharp claws, “Keep it away from me.”

“It’s this or a microchip,” Hannibal told him, “I hear they’re growing in popularity.”

They stared each other down. For a long moment, Hannibal thought Will was going to launch himself at him. His teeth were bared, his lip curled. Finally, Will’s shoulders sank. With what was clearly great effort, he turned his back on Hannibal and pulled his curls up in both hands, holding them out of the way. He was trembling.

“There we go,” Hannibal said gently. “Just for a little while.” He hooked the loop of nylon around Will’s throat. It secured in the back with a tiny padlock, loose enough to breathe comfortably, but snug enough that Hannibal doubted Will could ignore it. “We’ll get you something better,” He promised. “More discreet, if you like. You can pick.”

The second the lock clicked into place, Will whirled back around, taking another step back until the rim of the tub forced him to stop or fall. His chest was heaving in deep, shaking breaths, and he looked startled.

“I can pick?” He said, clutching his towel like a lifeline.

“Anything you like,” Hannibal assured him. “This is not how either of us foresaw the day going, I’m sure. It’s in both of our best interests to get along, don’t you think?”

Will watched him for a moment and then gave a short, curt nod. “You’re an odd human,” He said.

Hannibal smiled at him. “You’re an odd Cat,” He replied, “What a pair we make.”

_____

Hannibal kept dinner light and simple. Will did not look like his stomach would be ready for great amounts of food, but Hannibal had no doubt that fear would have him shoveling anything he could reach into his mouth. Hannibal made the choice easy for him by serving him simple portions of soup and freshly baked bread, enough to hopefully settle his stomach for a bit.

“Do you always cook like this?” Will asked, dipping his bread into his soup. He ate sloppily, not like someone who didn’t know better, more like someone who worried the food was about to be taken away and was trying to get as much of it as he could before that happened.

“I take a certain pride in my cooking,” Hannibal said, “I’m very careful what I put into my body. But if there’s anything you can’t tolerate, let me know and I’ll try to make arrangements.”

Will did not look entirely certain he would, but since that was the look Will had been giving him all day, Hannibal chose to ignore it.

“I don’t have the same restrictions a normal cat does,” Will finally said, “I can have chocolate and caffeine and grapes and all of that. But I  _ do _ like fish. A lot.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Hannibal said mildly, “I’ll admit to a preference for red meats, but there are plenty of fine meals based around seafood.”

Will nodded once and went back to his bread. Hannibal watched him eat until the last dregs of soup were gone, and he was rubbing his stomach with a slight wince.

“You may find it difficult to eat much for a while,” Hannibal explained as he cleared the plates away, “However, we wouldn’t want you to go hungry. Come into the kitchen with me.”

Will trailed after him, cautious as always, but seeming a bit more settled with a full belly. His tail had stopped twitching, at the very least. Hannibal opened up the fridge.

“I plan my meals very carefully, so I ask that you not touch anything on the bottom levels, and that you not pick the lock to my pantry again. Here, however,” Hannibal said, indicating the top shelf, “I’ll keep leftovers and drinks that you are more than welcome to.” Closing the fridge, he led Will to a basket on the counter. He’d filled the basket with fruits, crackers, and packages of nuts. There was plenty to choose from, and he’d even hidden some chocolate at the bottom of the basket for Will to discover later. “I understand that you may not be used to a regular meal schedule,” He said gently, “These are your snacks. They are only for you; I won’t be touching them. You may have as many and as often as you like, but I’ll expect you to be dining with me for breakfast and dinner, so please try not to spoil your appetite.”

Will’s eyes had gone very wide. He alternated between eager looks towards the basket, and disbelieving looks towards Hannibal. It was clear that Will was not often given near-free reign of a house. He’d already been shown the study, where he’d lingered by the books and nodded when Hannibal asked him to be gentle with the harpsichord, and Hannibal had made sure he was aware of Hannibal’s room in case of emergencies. Beyond staying out of the pantry and sleeping in his room instead of wandering at night, Hannibal had told him the house was his as much as it was Hannibal’s. He wondered how long it was going to take Will to believe him.

Will could not possibly have been hungry, given the slight bloating of his stomach, but his hand shot out to seize an apple. He immediately scurried backwards with his prize, staring Hannibal down as if daring him to take it away.

“As many and as often as you like,” Hannibal repeated.

_____ 

Hannibal had not locked Will in his room, although he could easily have done so. He was not entirely sure what madness had gripped him to be convinced to bring the Cat home, and he was eager to make the entire transition as smooth as possible for both of them. Besides, if Will grew to trust that Hannibal meant what he said, he would be less wary and easier to drug on the nights Hannibal needed to refill the pantry.

Still, sometime in the dead of night, Hannibal woke to a certainty that something was off. Lying very still in his bed, he heard the sound that had woken him, the very slight  _ thump _ of careful footsteps on an unfamiliar floor. He thought for a moment that Will had woken hungry, but then he heard the creak of the front door. He sighed.

This was not all-together unexpected, given Will’s mood so far. For a moment, Hannibal entertained the thought of letting Will go, pretending he’d slept through his escape. Will would have the freedom he so sought, and Hannibal would be alone in his house once more, the way he liked it.

But eventually, Will would end up in the shelter once more. Dr. Keller’s records would lead them to Hannibal’s home, and it was all just a bit more hassle and attention than Hannibal preferred. He sighed again and slid out of bed.

Will did not make it very far. He was too skittish, ducking around cars and hiding behind bushes, wary of other creatures though it was far too late for anyone else to be up. Hannibal could still see him from the front steps, barely two blocks away.

Will moved very quietly, but so did Hannibal. He crept closer and closer, until Will’s ears twitched and his shoulders hunched. Then, he stilled, leaving a few feet of space between the two of them.

“Will,” He said gently, “Come back inside.”

Will did not move at first. Then, he turned a petulant frown in Hannibal’s direction. “I don’t want to,” He said.

“I understand that. But it is very late. What are you going to do out here? Dig through the trash for breakfast?”

The look on Will’s face told Hannibal that had indeed been the plan. Hannibal tried not to roll his eyes.

“Come back inside,” He said again, careful to keep his tone gentle. Any trace of demanding and Will would freeze up once more. “I’ll make some warm milk if you can’t sleep. And in the morning we can go to the store and pick up some fresh clothes for you. Something that fits properly. How long has it been since you wore clothes of your own?”

There was a soft look of yearning in Will’s eyes. His tail shifted back and forth, nudging at the waistband of his pants in a manner that was surely uncomfortable, given how Will had to constantly grip them and heft them back up. After a very long moment, Will’s ears flattened back against his head in defeat. No doubt he was remembering Hannibal’s speed and strength from before. He nodded, folding his arms around himself. He did not allow Hannibal to touch him, sprinting ahead of him back into the house.


	2. Chapter 2

When they went out the next morning, Hannibal promised Will he did not have to walk on a leash, provided he kept within Hannibal’s sight, as the law allowed. It did not turn out to be a problem. Will did not like the upscale department store, full of loud noises and unfamiliar smells. He kept as close to Hannibal as he dared, still not wanting to be touched, but preferring the relative familiarity of Hannibal to the army of strangers. One poor over-eager saleswoman attempted to show Hannibal a cologne sample and would have gotten a face full of claw marks had Hannibal not seized Will around the waist and hauled him off towards the Pet section.

“The smell burns,” Will complained, shoving out of Hannibal’s grip. His eyes were watering. The woman had shoved the sample right past Will’s face, and it seemed his sense of smell was stronger even than Hannibal’s. Will rubbed at his face, letting out a small mewl of distress.

“I understand that,” Hannibal said, as patiently as he could manage, “But if you attempt to assault anyone else, I will have to start trimming your claws.”

Will looked up at him through reddened eyes. He seemed much too upset to manage his trademark glare, but his upper lip twisted enough to bare a fang and he let out a noise that was more whine than growl.

“Do you need to sit down for a bit?” Hannibal offered.

Will shook his head, wrapping his arms around himself. They’d wandered into the Pet section by now, and his eyes were wandering, caught by brightly colored toys.

There was not much here that Hannibal would have preferred to buy for Will. The treats were entirely out of the question, and Will already had feathers in his basket, although Hannibal made a note of the reluctant curiosity Will displayed as they walked past them.

“Did you want a Pet bed?” Hannibal asked as they passed a large basket, “You could still have your room, but we could put one in the study if you wanted one.”

Will’s face scrunched up. He had seemed fond of the study when they visited it, but that fondness was at war with his utter disdain for anything traditionally associated with Hybrid Pets. Finally, he shook his head.

“No thank you,” Will said, the politest he’d been since they met. Hannibal rewarded him with a small smile.

“Very well then,” Hannibal said, leading Will up to a glass counter, “I think there’s only one thing we need in this section, then, and we can move on to clothes.”

“We aren’t buying clothes here?”

Hannibal gave the overly flashy outfits on display a look of distaste. Pet clothes were all designed with showing off in mind. Pets were expensive, after all, when they weren’t being practically thrown away for their poor attitude. Hannibal liked to stand out, but in a style that was more ‘night at the opera’ and less ‘rhinestone bikini.’ “No, we’ll pick some clothes for you and my tailor will make adjustments for your tail.”

Will looked relieved. He’d clearly also seen the bikini. Frowning, he leaned over the counter, eyeing the contents with no small amount of disdain.

“You  _ have _ to wear one, Will,” Hannibal reminded him. Will glared down at the selection of collars. Some were flashier than others. One, in a gaudy shade of pink, would have matched the bikini perfectly. Still, there were a few tasteful options. After a few minutes of study, Will jabbed his thumb at the glass.

“That one,” He said.

‘That one’ was a simple chain, sturdy enough that it should not break easily were Will to catch it on something, but thin enough to appease Will’s hatred of the things. Hannibal nodded. “That should be acceptable. Do you like any of the others?” Hannibal would have happily allowed Will to color coordinate if it might help him to feel better about his collar, but Will sneered at the glass display.

“No.” He growled, and, upon Hannibal’s reproachful look, added a quick “No,  _ thank you _ .”

Hannibal waved over the girl who ran the long jewelry counter. She couldn’t have been more than seventeen, and her entire face brightened up when she saw Will.

“Ooh, such a pretty kitty!” She cooed, her voice pitching up in that strange, infantilizing way people spoke to pets and their Hybrid counterparts. “You’re the cutest boy I’ve seen today!”

Will was nearly old enough to be her very young father. Hannibal could admit to a bit of amusement at his expense, amusement that quickly turned to alarm when the girl stood on her tiptoes and reached out to pet Will’s curls.

Will bared his teeth and his hands came up. Hannibal grabbed him by the wrists and pulled him back a step before he could do any damage.

“I’m so sorry,” He said to the girl, who looked extremely put out to have been denied, “He’s a rescue. We’re still acclimating him to other people.”

If anything, that only made her more interested in Will. Abuse of a Pet came with a rather hefty fine, and rescued Pets were rarely seen in public.

Perhaps, Hannibal thought to himself, because Pets who didn’t rehome well rarely made it through as many adoptions as Will had.

Will was still grumbling, his skin vibrating with the force of the sound. Hannibal did not miss the way he trembled, tugging lightly at his wrists to try and release them from Hannibal’s grasp.

“We’re almost done,” Hannibal told him softly, “You may hate me as much as you like at home, but we need to get through just a bit more.”

Will glowered down at the ground and gave a stiff nod. “I don’t want her to pet me,” He muttered.

“I wasn’t going to let her,” Hannibal assured him, releasing his hands. He left Will to peruse the cat toys a few steps back, returning to the counter on his own. “Now then,” He said with a small smile, “I was hoping you could help me with an item.”

By the time the girl had rung Hannibal out and bagged up his choice, Will had settled somewhat. He’d also picked something up, which he shoved back onto the shelf the moment Hannibal returned, face red.

It was the first time he’d shown an interest in something that wasn’t strictly related to survival. Hannibal plucked the large toy from the shelf, eyeing it curiously.

“A stuffed dog?” He asked. Will turned away from him, hiding his face from view.

“I like dogs,” He admitted, “The last place had a dog. A  _ normal  _ dog. They didn’t deserve him.” He did not seem inclined to say anymore. Hannibal held out the toy.

“I’m afraid my home is ill-equipped for another pet,” Hannibal said, surprised to find he was genuinely apologetic, “This should be alright, though.”

Will glanced at him over his shoulder, startled. He took the stuffed toy from Hannibal, holding it tight. It was comically oversized in his hands, but something in his face softened as he held it.

“I don’t really play with these things,” He admitted, “Some Cats do. I never really got into it. It’s just a nice memory.”

“If you want it, you can have it,” Hannibal assured him. Anything to get Will to settle a little further. It was a waste to spend all this money only to kill him, and having someone else around at home might ease some of the curiosity that Hannibal’s perpetual bachelor status tended to draw.

Will hesitated, and then nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, that might be nice.”

_____

Will liked the tailor only slightly more than he’d liked the department store, fussing at all the physical contact required to alter the clothes Hannibal had purchased him. Hannibal plied him with treats he’d packed, suspecting Will would be better behaved on a full stomach. Will would not take the nuts directly from Hannibal’s hand, even though it might have made the tailor’s job easier, but he was happy enough to snatch them up off a table when Hannibal left them lying there. Whatever worked.

He was quiet through dinner, pensive. When they went off to bed, he hovered outside his doorway, watching Hannibal warily, as if he expected something. Whatever it was, it never came. Will finally ducked himself into his room, shutting the door behind him.

In the dead of night, Will fled again. He left the clothes but took the dog. He was cleverer this time, quieter. Hannibal was ashamed to admit he slept right through it, only rousing when the call came through around four AM.

“Is this Dr. Hannibal Lecter?” The man on the phone spoke Hannibal’s name slowly, as if reading it off of a piece of paper, not entirely certain he was saying it correctly.

“Yes,” Hannibal said, sitting up, “Who, may I ask, is calling?”

“This is Officer Fields of the Baltimore PD,” The man replied, “We have your Cat here, found him wandering the streets. We got your name off his collar.”

Ah yes, the small license Will had been so irritable about. Hannibal was already up and reaching for his pants. He should eat Will, he really should. It would serve him right for all the hassle he was causing.

“I’m so sorry, officer. We’re in a bit of an adjustment period, I’m afraid, and he likes to be outside.”

The officer chuckled, “Don’t you worry, I’ve got a pretty little thing of my own at home. She’d be the perfect little decoration if there weren’t so many goddamn  _ birds _ out the windows.”

“Will  _ does  _ love his birds,” Hannibal agreed, completely unaware of anything Will liked except food and dogs. “Where did you say you found him?”

______

Will was sitting in the back of the cop car when Hannibal pulled up, wrapped in a blanket and glaring moodily out the window. Hannibal could see one of the stuffed dog’s ears peeking out from under the blanket. Officer Fields was smiling as if Will’s irritation was the funniest thing he’d seen all night. His partner, nursing a long scratch up the side of his arm, did not seem so pleased.

“That’s a vicious little thing you’ve got on your hands,” the other officer said, sounding spiteful.

Officer Fields rolled his eyes. “I  _ told  _ you not to grab him like that, Frank. Cats hate to be cornered.” Turning to Hannibal, he explained: “Poor Kitty startled when we pulled up, got himself trapped under a porch. I was gonna bribe him with some of my leftovers, but Frank here doesn’t have a bit of patience. He went straight for the collar.”

“You’re supposed to  _ scruff ‘em _ ,” Frank grumbled.

“You don’t grab at strange Animals like that,” Officer Fields lectured, giving Hannibal a look as if to say ‘do you see what I put up with?’ “Never know what they’ve been through.”

“Will is a rescue,” Hannibal interjected, hoping to downplay Will’s obvious hostility, “This is a very new placement for him, he’s still adjusting.”

“Y’see, Frank?” Officer Fields clapped his partner on the shoulder as he passed, stooping to let Will out of the back seat. “There you go, little one. Look who came to pick you up!”

Once again, when he straightened up, Will was taller than the person speaking to him. Hannibal was beginning to understand a bit of his frustration with other people. Will gave Officer Fields a wide berth as he edged his way around the car, though at least he had the sense to make his way towards Hannibal. He shoved the blanket at Hannibal, who in turn handed it off to Frank.

“Thank you very much for your help tonight,” Hannibal said, giving the officers a polite little nod. Behind him, the car door slammed loudly. When he turned, he was not at all surprised to find Will sulking in the front seat.

“You take care,” Officer Fields called after them.

Will was silent for the ride home. Once they’d parked, Hannibal turned to face him.

“I’ve never met a Hybrid like you,” He told Will.

Will scoffed, rolling his eyes. “What, because Pets are meant to be docile and sweet? Sit still, look pretty, do as you’re told.”

“No,” Hannibal said slowly, “Because Hybrids like you are typically euthanized.”

Will stiffened. His ears flattened out, and he growled out a warning. “Is that a threat,  _ Doctor? _ ”

“It’s a warning,” Hannibal told him. “When I picked you up from the shelter, Doctor Keller warned me that your next destination was likely recall. Do you know what that means?”

“I know what recall is,” Will said. His face had gone slack, a hint of genuine fear beginning to steal over his features.

“I am not going to return you, Will. But I cannot guarantee your safety if you keep running off like this. Especially if you scratch another police officer. That could have been the end of you, and there would be nothing I could do about it.”

Will’s hands had gone white knuckled around the belt-buckle. Hannibal was not capable of feeling guilt, not the way the average person was, but he felt almost as though he’d laid it on a little thick. Gently, he reached for Will’s shoulder. “I’m not going to return you,” He repeated.

Will panicked at the touch, shoving himself back against the car door. His left hand swung, aiming for Hannibal’s face and nearly succeeding. Hannibal caught his wrist inches from his jaw, eyeing up the long, unkempt, claw-like nails.

“I  _ am _ going to do something about these, though,” He murmured, letting Will go. “Inside. There are still a few more hours left in the night, and I know how much sleep you need.”

Will stared at him, his hands clutched to his chest. His eyes traced over every inch of Hannibal’s face before he nodded, stiff and awkward, and scrambled out of the car.

_____

In the morning, Hannibal got straight to breakfast. He was starting to note some of Will’s preferences, which pieces he ate for function, and which he savored. Will had yet to actually turn up his nose at anything, although Hannibal noticed certain things tended to linger on the plate the longest. Over the last few meals, he’d tried as many different things as he could, helping Will’s body to adjust to variety and sustenance again.

Milk was a yes, unsurprisingly. Will had not inherited the lactose intolerance common to ordinary animals. In fact, much more of him was human than cat, but Hannibal had not broached the subject of his breeding. It seemed impolite.

So, a glass of milk. Sweet things tended to disappear faster, but Will chewed them longer, enjoying. Crepes, then, with the apples Will had been devouring between meals. And bacon. Meat had, so far,  _ always _ been favored. Will was possibly more carnivorous than Hannibal himself. Hannibal fried up some extra pieces, a peace offering for what the morning held in store.

As he was plating, he caught sight of two brown ears poking out from around the doorway. He sighed, carefully drizzling a light, sweet caramel sauce over the apple crepes.

“You don’t need to hide from me,” He called to Will, “I believe we established that early on.”

“I’m not hiding,” Came the lie almost immediately. The rest of Will followed his ears, and he took a few stubborn steps into the center of the room as if to prove his point. Hannibal held out a plate to him.

“Will, you are welcome to watch, if you prefer it. I enjoy an audience when I cook.”

Will gave the plate a ravenous look, as though Hannibal never fed him. He took it gingerly, avoiding contact with Hannibal as much as possible. Hannibal led the way into the dining room.

Will ate breakfast with gusto. He’d slowed down a bit from that first day, as he realized that there would be more meals coming, but he still ate faster than was polite. His table manners were improving, at least.

After, Hannibal intercepted him on his way out of the room, by standing close enough to the doorway that Will would have to brush past him to leave. Will hesitated, glancing between Hannibal and the door.

“I’m going to need you to come with me upstairs,” Hannibal said gently, “We have to take care of those nails.”

Will’s ears flattened, disappearing into his curls. Those would be next, if Hannibal could ever get him to sit still long enough. They were beautiful, but threatening to touch his shoulders at this point.

“I need my claws,” Will insisted, folding both hands behind his back as though Hannibal could not reach them that way.

“You have very poor impulse control,” Hannibal told him, “You lash out when you are frightened or upset. While I do not believe you do so on purpose, if you continue to show a propensity for violence, there will be little I can do to protect you.” Nor would he try very hard, if Will risked bringing too much scrutiny down on Hannibal’s own head.

Will ducked his head, clenching his fists so hard that he was sure to leave the imprints of claws along his palms. He took a deep, shaking breath. “I need them,” he said again, sounding much less convinced.

“You are safe here,” Hannibal told him, “Whether you believe it or not, when you are with me, there is nothing to defend yourself from. I did not allow the girl at the shop to touch you, did I?”

“No,” Will ground out, “But that was more about her than me.”

Hannibal tilted his head thoughtfully. “Perhaps,” He allowed, “But the end result was the same. I will not allow others to put you in an uncomfortable position. Our lives together will go much smoother if we are both content.”

Will huffed out another trembling breath. He nodded, shoulders hunched so that his curls hid them from view.

“Good boy,” Hannibal praised, which earned him an almost helpless look, wide-eyed like Will was not sure whether to bask in the praise or spit in his face. He settled for twitching his ears and his tail, looking away from Hannibal and towards the door.

“Where-?” Will asked.

“Your bathroom will suit our needs. You may lead the way.”

Will grew stiffer and stiffer as they wandered up the stairs. At the door to the hall bathroom, he hesitated, eyes following Hannibal as he wandered past.

“You may wait for me inside,” Hannibal told him, “I need to gather our supplies.”

When he returned, Will had seated himself on the closed toilet lid, his hands clutched white-knuckled in his lap. His ears went all the way back when Hannibal knelt in front of him, body trembling with the effort to remain still.

“I know you want to run,” Hannibal told him softly, “I understand this is difficult for you. I appreciate your effort.”

Will gave him that same helpless, lost look. Hannibal reached out and touched his hand for the very first time.

At first, Will jolted back, nearly smacking his head against the wall with the effort to get away. Hannibal waited patiently, his hand outstretched, until Will reached out and placed his palm in Hannibal’s again.

They were not so different from normal fingernails. A bit thicker, a  _ lot _ sharper, and severely overgrown. Hannibal’s own nail clippers would not have sufficed. He settled a towel over Will’s lap, picking up the Cat clippers he’d bought for Will. He had to grip Will’s hand  _ very _ firmly to stop the tremors.

At the first clip, Will let out a small gasp. It was followed by a sharp inhale on the second, and when Hannibal clipped the third nail, Will let out a low mewl of distress. He did not seem entirely aware that he was making the sound, his eyes having gone hazy from the moment he’d placed his hand in Hannibal’s care.

“Am I hurting you?” Hannibal asked curiously. Will’s nails lacked the quick of a typical cat’s, no red vein throughout, but perhaps there were nerve endings there that Hannibal could not see.

But Will shook his head. “I’m fine,” He mumbled, though he was clearly not. Hannibal waited for anything further; when it didn’t come, he went back to work. Best to finish up quickly, for Will’s sake.

Will did not make the sorrowful noise again, but when Hannibal looked up from clipping the last nail, there were spots of blood on his lower lip from his fangs. Hannibal frowned, holding up the metal nail file. “We’re almost done,” he assured Will. “What would you like for dinner tonight?”

Will did not register the question for a long moment. Hannibal was patient, carefully filing each nail to the length and shape he preferred for his own. When he moved to the second hand, Will managed a soft croak of speech.

“I liked the crepes this morning,” He said. Hannibal hid a smile, ducking his head to focus on his work. Food was a source of comfort for the both of them, it seemed. He wished he’d tried this tactic sooner.

“I don’t normally serve sweets for dinner,” Hannibal said, “But I suppose we can make an exception, if you behave yourself while I’m at work…” He trailed off into silence, waiting.

Sure enough, Will growled at the idea of ‘behaving.’ It was an interesting disagreement he seemed to have with himself. He’d enjoyed being praised for being good, and Hannibal suspected he would take well to a system of rewards, but he also clearly resented himself for those reactions. Will responded like a Pet, and hated every minute of it. Hannibal would have to walk a thin line between giving him the security and attention he clearly needed, and the independence he so strongly craved. No matter, Hannibal had always liked a challenge.

_____

Will did not run away again. Hannibal’s warning had clearly driven some of the fight out of him. He wandered listlessly from room to room, avoiding Hannibal and seeking him out in equal measure. He seemed to dislike not knowing where Hannibal was, but could not bring himself to actually indulge his drive for attention. Beyond breakfast and dinner, Hannibal only saw Will out of the corner of his eye. It was a relatively peaceful first week, now that Will had settled a bit.

The weekend made it harder for Will to avoid him. He was unwilling to trap himself in his room, but also unwilling to put Hannibal between himself and a doorway. Hannibal took to seating himself as far into a room as possible, to avoid watching Will’s curls poke around the door frame six or seven times an hour.

The list of things Will liked slowly expanded.

He liked meat, of course, and milk. He had an unexpected sweet tooth, though beyond that first reward, he did not request sweets for dinner or in his snack bowl. Desserts, however, were enjoyed thoroughly.

Will liked his stuffed dog, a bit more than he was willing to let Hannibal know. It never left his room, and Will kept the door closed, but once Hannibal snuck a peek while Will was in the shower and found the dog prominently placed on Will’s pillows.

He claimed to dislike his other toys, although Hannibal suspected instinct would take over were any of them to move. Not that Hannibal was willing to swipe feathers from Will’s room to test the theory. What Will preferred were books, and he read almost as eagerly as Hannibal himself, if a bit slower.

Will also liked to sharpen his claws on things, a fact that made Hannibal glad he’d trimmed and filed them. It was almost absentminded, the way Will would run his nails over fabrics and wood alike. They were thankfully too dulled to do much damage, although Hannibal made a mental note to get Will a proper scratching board to keep his more delicate pieces of furniture safe.

Will was a series of contradictions. In one moment, he had all the instincts and desires of a well-bred Pet. In the next, he was entirely human, and a furious one, at that.

But Hannibal had never particularly wanted a Pet, and so Will was largely free to do what he liked, with the exceptions of two meals a day and a weekly nail trim. It worked for the both of them, and slowly, Will began to relax.


	3. Chapter 3

“My bowl is empty.”

It had been several weeks since Will came to live with Hannibal. Conversation over meals was stilted, but at least it was existent, at this point. Will had also started creeping a bit closer when they shared a room. Hannibal was still not allowed close enough to touch, but if Hannibal sat in the armchair by the fire, Will might commandeer the far end of the sofa. He liked the fire quite a bit. Hannibal had a mental countdown of how long he expected it to be before Will was brave enough to sprawl out on the rug at Hannibal’s feet and soak up the heat, as he so clearly longed to do.

Still, Hannibal was surprised to be greeted in the entryway when he came home.

“What was that?” He asked, toeing off his shoes and unwrapping his scarf.

Will huffed. He was not looking at Hannibal. Clearly, it had taken all of his courage to confront Hannibal at all. “My  _ snack _ bowl. It’s  _ empty _ .”

Hannibal paused in the act of hanging up his coat. “Your bowl is not empty, Will, I filled it this morning.”

“It was full then. It’s empty  _ now _ ,” Will explained in slow, irritated tones.

“I highly doubt that,” Hannibal said, “You wouldn’t be here debating with me if you’d eaten every snack in the bowl. You’d be upstairs, being sick in the bathroom.”

Will huffed again, carding a hand through his curls to push them out of his eyes. “It’s empty.” He repeated, “I’ll show you.”

He stalked off towards the kitchen. Another improvement, showing his back to Hannibal. Hannibal felt an unexpected twinge of fondness, following behind.

The bowl, as Hannibal had suspected, was  _ not _ empty. In fact, it was quite full around the edges. It was only the middle that had been hollowed out, no doubt as a result of Will picking through and choosing his favorites.

“See?” Will said, prodding his finger into the bowl.

Hannibal raised an eyebrow. “That’s not what  _ empty _ means, Will.”

Will glared at him. “You can see all the way to the bottom.”

Hannibal reached into the bowl, adjusting it so the bottom was covered and it once again appeared halfway full. Diminished from the morning, yes, but not so badly as to be in danger of running out. As he did so, he noticed a distinct lack of something.

Will looked at the bowl, a light flush spreading across his face. “Okay, it’s more full than I thought it was,” He admitted, “But it’s not  _ fresh _ . “

“I’m not refilling your bowl, Will,” Hannibal said patiently, “Dinner will be ready in another hour or two. You’ll spoil your appetite.”

“You want me to  _ starve _ ,” Will complained. It was the most bold he’d been since coming to Hannibal’s house. Hannibal once again felt that unfamiliar fondness, more amused than he would expect to be at such a complaint. He turned to the bowl once more, fishing through it to confirm his suspicions.

“Will,” He said firmly, “I’m not going to refill your bowl just because you’ve eaten all the chocolate chips first.”

Will’s flush deepened. He turned away from Hannibal to hide it, arms crossed. “I ate a banana, too,” He mumbled.

“I see that,” Hannibal agreed, his good humor coloring his voice. Some of that humor faded when Will turned to look at him, peeking up through bangs that were threatening to conceal his cheekbones, even as curly as they were. “Will,” He said with a spark of inspiration, “I’d like to strike a bargain with you.”

“What sort of bargain?” Will asked suspiciously.

“How would you like me to leave you some extra chocolate tomorrow? A reward, of sorts.”

“We do my nails on Monday,” Will said immediately, shoving his hands behind his back and taking a step away from Hannibal. Hannibal gentled his tone.

“Not your nails, dear Will. I wouldn’t do that to you twice in one week. I know how hard that is for you.”

Will still looked wary, but curiosity was winning out. “A reward for what?” He asked.

“If you’re brave enough to demand more chocolate, you’re brave enough for a haircut.”

_____

Will was not brave enough for a haircut.

The only sort of salon that Hannibal would have trusted was also the sort to be quite busy. People and their Pets crowded the waiting area, filled with a dozen different smells and sounds. Will lost color the moment they walked in, and never quite regained it.

“Such a pretty Kitty,” The receptionist cooed over the noise of hairdryers and the occasional pleased animal sound from other Hybrids in the shop. She did not reach for Will’s curls, but Will ducked anyway, digging his clipped nails roughly into the fabric of his pants.

“He is,” Hannibal said mildly, “Although he’s getting a bit shaggy. We have an appointment. A woman named Sarah, I believe?”

“That would be me,” Another woman stepped out from the back room, holding her hand out for Hannibal to shake. Unlike the receptionist, she  _ did _ touch Will’s hair, tugging a curl between her fingertips. “You let him get ratty,” She accused, “All of this will have to go.”

She turned, clearly expecting them to follow. Hannibal didn’t get a chance. Much to Hannibal’s surprise, Will dug his fingers into Hannibal’s sleeve, not to hurt, but to cling.

“Please,” Will hissed, “I don’t want to, I can’t… Please don’t make me.”

He looked very far away, as he had the first time Hannibal had clipped his nails. Behind Hannibal, the receptionist knocked a cup of pens to the ground. The noise made Will jump. Ears flat to his head, he  _ pressed forward _ , until his forehead touched Hannibal’s shoulder.

“Please,” he whispered, “Don’t let her touch me.”

Hannibal looked down at Will, who’s entire body was screaming with tension. He glanced over at the receptionist, who was staring at Will with open-mouthed curiosity.

“I’m afraid I’ve forgotten another engagement,” He said smoothly, “We’ll pay the cancellation fee, of course.”

She ran him through those steps, never taking her eyes off of Will, who kept his head down and his breathing shallow. Hannibal wrapped an arm around him to lead him to the car. Surprisingly, Will let him.

In the car, Hannibal watched Will, a faint frown on his face. Will avoided his gaze, tucked against the door, pressing his forehead to the glass.

“What set you off?” Hannibal asked, “You didn’t like the tailor, but you were able to be still for him.”

“She touched my hair,” Will mumbled into the window. “I didn’t…” He trailed off, his fingers twitching in his lap. “You’ve never punished me,” He said, and the sudden change of subject nearly lost Hannibal completely.

“You’ve never needed it,” Hannibal said simply. It was the first logical response, but remembering what he knew of Will, he reconsidered his answer. “Nor do I think you would benefit from it.”

Will twisted in his seat, staring at Hannibal. “I attacked a saleslady,” He said slowly, “And a cop. You were upset.”

“Out of fright, not malice,” Hannibal said, “And we dealt with that together by tidying your nails.” He hesitated, thinking his next words over carefully. “I have noticed that most Pets feel more secure with clear boundaries and consequences. I have also noticed you despise being treated like most Pets, rather than being treated like yourself.”

Will continued to stare at him. Out of the corner of his eye, Hannibal caught a wide-eyed look of disbelief.

“I don’t think you would benefit from it,” Hannibal said again, “I think, were I to punish you, it would only upset you further. You do best when I talk to you as an equal.”

Will looked away again. Hannibal could see his hands fidgeting restlessly in his lap. “You’re not like any other owner I’ve ever met,” Will said softly.

“And you are unlike anyone  _ I  _ have ever met,” Hannibal conceded, “Hybrid or otherwise. “

There was silence again for another mile or two. Will watched the trees go by, his tail twitching restlessly alongside him. He might have been more comfortable spread out in the back seat, rather than crushing his tail beneath him in the front, but Hannibal chose to let Will make those decisions on his own.

“He shaved my head,” Will finally said, almost too soft to catch, “The clippers hurt my ears, and they nicked. I have a scar.” One hand came up to tug at the slightly-notched tip of his right ear.

“That sounds unpleasant,” Hannibal replied gently.

“Shouldn’t steal food,” Will muttered, “That’s what he said, but he was just curious. He wanted to know what it would look like. It looks… Wrong. ‘Fucked up,’ he said. It itched when it grew back in and he wouldn’t stop  _ touching _ …”

Hannibal’s capacity for affection was diminished. As well versed in psychiatry as he was, he could acknowledge his inability to connect with others, or rather, a lack of desire to do so. One day, after he was dead, perhaps his crimes would be discovered, and textbooks devoted to his neurosis. But for now, only Hannibal was aware of his own thoughts, his feelings.

He liked Will. This was as much a surprise to Hannibal as it would have been to any of the posthumous thesis writers he’d dreamed up, but it was true. Will was interesting and odd, and he fascinated a curious part of Hannibal that was never quite sated. Hannibal could not say for sure whether he was  _ fond _ of Will, but he liked him, at the very least.

And it was that liking that drew a bubble of displeasure to Hannibal’s chest, an irritation that fluttered under his skin.

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” He said quietly. Will glanced over at him.

“I’ve had normal punishments,” He said, almost defensive. “That one just… He just…”

“Was he your most recent?”

Will shook his head. “Two houses back,” He said quietly. “The one after him… They were okay, but they wanted a pedigree, someone to show off at the end of a leash. And after  _ them _ …” His eyes darkened, something hollow and flat. He turned his face back to the window.

“There needn’t be any punishments between us,” Hannibal told him, “Unless you desire them.”

Will scoffed. “Did you want me to  _ beg _ for them?”

At the next red light, Hannibal turned to take him in. Will looked contemplative, his face scrunched up in thought. Hannibal had his suspicions.

“You know, Will,” He said gently, “There are some humans who enjoy structure and attention, as well.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Will’s face contorted in a look of disgust. “I  _ am _ human,” He spat.

They drove the rest of the way in silence, although Will seemed to have calmed slightly by the time they reached home.

Hannibal hadn’t. His skin was still itching with that irritation, that disgust. It was a good night to relieve some stress. Restock his pantry.

At dinner, Hannibal poured Will a tall glass of milk and crushed two pills into it. Will was sleeping soundly in his bed when Hannibal left the house.

_____

A few days later, Will came to Hannibal in the evening. Hannibal had settled in by the fire, and watched curiously out of the corner of his eyes as Will crept closer, step by step, hands folded behind his back.

“Are you out of chocolate chips again?” Hannibal said, voice light.

Will shook his head at the gentle teasing and held out the scissors from the kitchen.

Hannibal took them, looking up at Will, his head tilted thoughtfully. “We’ve already had dinner, Will. We don’t need to open any more meat.”

“For my hair,” Will whispered, his voice catching in his throat. “I thought… You wouldn’t…” He drew in a deep breath, summoning up that stern fierceness he usually wore over his fear. He glared at Hannibal, arms crossed over his chest. “You have to be  _ careful _ ,” He lectured, “Especially around my ears.”

Will had offered him a gift. Trust, earned carefully and slowly, without Hannibal needing to demand or cajole. Hannibal held out the scissors.

“Not these,” He said, “I won’t touch your curls with scissors made to cut open packaging. Put them away and meet me upstairs, in my bathroom.”

Direct and to the point. Hannibal at first worried that Will would call it off, resentful of being ordered. Instead, he hurried to obey, tail twitching behind him. Hannibal watched him go, realigning everything he knew about Will.

Upstairs, Hannibal prepped the bathroom. Will hated to be wet, and any further stress would likely ruin the entire exercise, so Hannibal filled the sink with warm water and laid out a comb to work it through Will’s hair, keeping him as dry as possible. Hannibal rarely cut his own hair, but occasionally a piece grew too long or was missed by the barber, and the thin haircutting shears had been a worthy investment. A few towels, and Will was at the door.

Will hovered in the doorway, caught between Hannibal’s bedroom and his bathroom. Hannibal did not miss the wary looks darted towards the bed. It had not taken much thought or effort to piece together the missing parts of Will’s history.

Hannibal’s bathroom had a low bench, perfect for laying out clothes or reading while the bath filled. Hannibal had pulled it out into the center of the room. He patted it now, gesturing towards Will. “Over here, please.”

Will sat with very little grace, crumpling into the seat like a marionette with cut strings. He clenched his fists in the fabric of his pants as Hannibal draped a towel over his shoulders. “You have to be careful,” He said again.

“I will be.” Hannibal dipped the comb into the warm water, gently working through the tangles and snags formed by whatever Will got up to while Hannibal was at work. Hannibal had often come home to find his comfortable furniture shifted ever so slightly, and suspected Will was much more carefree when left to his own devices.

Will’s ears continued to twitch restlessly as Hannibal combed out his curls, sometimes flattening against his head, more often following every shift of Hannibal’s feet on the tile floor.

“Can you still them?” Hannibal asked, trailing a curious finger over the ridge of one pointed ear. Will flinched. Hannibal pulled his hands away.

“They move on their own,” Will said, “I can turn them to follow sounds, but most of the motion is instinctive.

“I’ll be  _ very _ careful, then.”

For the first few snips, Will was quiet, occasionally flinching at the soft ‘snick’ sound of the scissors. His shoulders slowly dropped from their hunched position, as he realized that Hannibal really wasn’t going to hurt him with them.

“You’ve never had a Pet before, have you?” Will asked, halfway through the cut.

“No, I haven’t,” Hannibal told him. “Some ordinary animals as a young child, but they were the practical sort. A horse for riding, a cat to chase the mice. A work animal, more than a pet. And never a Hybrid.”

Will’s fists had unclenched. He had his tail resting in his lap and was gently grooming it, hands smoothing out ruffled fur and small snarls in the short fuzz. When he found his voice, it was soft, weary. “Why did you bring me here, Hannibal?”

Hannibal paused in the midst of layering. He’d left Will’s hair a tad long, enough for him to play with when he became fussy. It was a habit Hannibal had noticed often, the more time Will spent in the same room as him. “You needed somewhere to go,” He finally said.

Will scoffed at that, a small, bitter laugh. “You gave me my own room. You let me wander the house. You don’t leash me outside, you don’t summon me to your bed. You don’t give me any direction at all, if you can help it. Why am I here, Hannibal? What do you want from me?”

Hannibal thought it over, setting the scissors down and ruffling Will’s hair to make sure it laid properly. “It is natural to crave companion-“

“Don’t.” Will cut him off with a sharp shake of his head. “That’s what you do to other people. I saw you. With the cops, and with the salespeople. Even the tailor, and I think you  _ like  _ him.”

Hannibal did, in fact. He ate his last tailor, and Mr. Cancio was a large improvement. Still, he waited patiently for Will to make his point, towel drying his hair in silence.

“You do that with  _ other _ people,” Will repeated. “You put on this… This  _ fake _ smile. Like you’re in a costume. Like you’re in some kind of  _ person suit _ .”

Hannibal had never heard himself described in such terms. He was not sure he approved. “A ‘person suit?’”

Will shrugged, a faint flush blossoming across his cheeks. “You’re real here, in your home. You’re not real when you step outside. And I don’t want you to do that to me, talk to me like I’m someone you have to fool, some stranger you think so little of.”

Will had flayed Hannibal open and dug his fingers around in his brain, or so it felt. Hannibal leaned back against the counter and stared at Will’s profile, the curls that still haloed his face like a Botticelli angel, the peek of a fang that slid against his lower lip when he was nervous. Not for the first time, he thought,  _ this creature is dangerous _ . But it was the first time the thought had made him hesitant.

He had brought Will home because of his oddities; his intelligence, his tendency towards violence, the attitude that would have been intolerable on a human but was fascinating on a carefully bred Pet. There was only so much of that he could say out loud, though, and Will would apparently know if he lied. Hannibal framed his words carefully, skirting around the beautiful darkness he saw buried deep in Will. The potential he saw in Will, just as he saw it in the patients he urged towards their own becomings.

“You fascinated me,” Hannibal said, “You were unlike anything I’d ever seen. And I  _ was _ alone, that was not a lie.”

“Alone, but not lonely,” Will surmised, “Or at least, you’d never thought about it long enough to realize.”

Hannibal felt as though he had a target painted on all his weak spots. He tilted his head and stared at Will, who stood and shook his head, sending loose hairs scattering to join their brethren on the floor.

“Are you happy here, Will?”

Will froze in the act of shedding his towel. He bit down on his lip and looked away. “Yeah,” He mumbled, “Yeah, I think I am.”

In that moment, they were two very guarded men with very feeble defenses. Hannibal saw the flickers of tentative trust growing in Will, the desire to relax. He was wary of who Hannibal was around other people, but not who Hannibal was here at home, where Hannibal was the closest to real he had ever been. Interesting.

“I like the haircut,” Will told him before he left the room, “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.” Hannibal heard footsteps disappear down the hall, heard the shower turn on. Will would not be in it for very long, just enough time to wash the itch of loose hairs away. Hannibal did not move. He looked down at the mess on the floor, caught between recipes and designs.


	4. Chapter 4

Something toppled over in the kitchen at 2AM. It was a distant, quiet thud, but Hannibal had always slept lightly.

Will was welcome to food whenever he desired it, of course, but unlike ordinary cats he tended to sleep through the night. Or at least, he stayed in his room through the night. He seemed more and more tired during the day, and Hannibal had found his spare sheets and towels depleting at an alarming rate. Will smelled of sweat and fear very early in the morning, when he passed Hannibal on his way to the shower. Night terrors were not unheard of in humans with PTSD, it stood to reason a Hybrid would suffer the same. Perhaps Will was searching for something sweet to soothe his ragged edges.

Another thud. Hannibal frowned. Will preferred to creep around corners and make himself scarce when he was upset. He would not make this much noise.

Hannibal kept a knife in his bedside drawer. He preferred their intimacy to the cool distance of guns, and he had not slept unarmed since he was a boy back in Lithuania. He gripped the hunting knife tight as he crept down the stairs. A burglar was unlikely, but not impossible.

It was not a burglar. It was, in fact, Will, standing at the pantry door and scraping it lightly with his filed claws. As Hannibal watched, he let out a soft, pleading ‘mew.’

The thunks had been the snack bowl and the sugar canister, respectively. Will had apparently wandered elsewhere in the kitchen before heading for the pantry. Hannibal straightened up. Folding the knife he slipped it into the pocket of his sleep pants.

“Will,” He called, “What are you doing? You know where your food is kept.”

Will didn’t answer him. He continued to paw gently at the door, occasionally making more soft, despondent noises. Hannibal frowned and reached for him.

Will’s eyes were heavily lidded when Hannibal turned him, nothing but a small sliver of color in the dark kitchen. He mewed again, stepping forward and ducking his head to nuzzle into Hannibal’s bare chest.

He was sleepwalking. Hannibal frowned down at the curls tucked under his chin. Will sighed against his chest and settled down, one hand clutching at Hannibal’s shoulder, the other wrapping around him in a loose half-hug.

It was… cute. Hannibal shook his head with a small smile. Might as well take advantage, Will would hardly be this pliant while awake. He carded his hand through Will’s hair, scratching gently at the base of his ears. “Come along, Will. Let’s get you back to bed.”

Will moved easily, though he huffed in displeasure at the loss of Hannibal’s warmth. Hannibal tucked him back into bed, frowning at the towels Will had clearly been sleeping on. They were soaked through with sweat. Hannibal pressed a hand to Will’s forehead and found him warm. He smelled like fever, a hint of sweetness that had gone unnoticed when Hannibal had not been seeking it out. But he had not complained of any symptoms. Hannibal would offer him Tylenol in the morning and melatonin tomorrow night. He pulled the blanket higher around Will’s shoulders and left to tidy the kitchen.

_____

Will denied feeling ill the next morning, although he accepted Hannibal’s offer of Tylenol. He seemed more embarrassed than anything else.

“Do you have any idea why you would have been trying to get into the pantry?” Hannibal asked curiously. Will shrugged.

“I probably remembered the meat. I haven’t had anything raw in a while.”

Hannibal paused in packing his lunch. “Is that something you crave?”

Will shrugged. “It’s… different. Cats kill for pleasure, not just for food. It’s not bred into Hybrids, obviously, but something about raw meat is just… enjoyable.”

“Do you have a preference?”

“Not really. It’s just nice to indulge in once in a while.”

Hannibal would bring him heart, carefully carved into his well-loved heart tartare hors d’oeuvres. Or perhaps Will would prefer it in its entirety, biting into the still-warm flesh, blood dripping down his chin.

It was such a lovely fantasy that Hannibal did not take the time to wonder why he was having it.

_____

Will was finally growing comfortable. They’d not had a repeat of the sleepwalking incident, that Hannibal had seen. He still smelled off, but as he was not complaining of any aches or pains, there was little Hannibal could do to change that.

In fact, Will seemed to be doing exceptionally well. Blossoming, even. Hannibal had not told him of his eagerness to be pet in his sleep, but even so, Will no longer skirted the edges of the room. He stayed just out of arm’s reach, but if Hannibal settled in by the fire and sat very still, Will would drape himself over the rug. He had clearly longed to do so since arriving in Hannibal’s home, and his satisfied smile was contagious.

He’d also taken to allowing himself to be caught napping. Normally, Will wandered back to his room when he felt weary during the day, but Hannibal had started to find him all over the house, on the chaise lounge, curled up tightly in Hannibal’s arm chair, and even draped over the kitchen island, belly up and basking in the sunbeams that flooded the room.

“There have to be  _ some _ limits, dear Will,” Hannibal told him that day. Will peered up at him from heavily-lidded eyes, stretching languidly.

“This room gets the most sun,” He told Hannibal, rolling onto his side to face the windows. It put Hannibal at his back, another impressive show of his newfound comfort.

“I’ll buy you an over-glorified couch cushion,” Hannibal promised, “You can set it right in front of the windows. You cannot sleep on my workstation.”

“You aren’t ‘working’ right now,” Will insisted. He gave another little stretch, the curve of his back indecent in how far it bent. There seemed to be little Will could not do to contort his body into a scant space. The kitchen island was hardly a fitting pallet for a man of nearly six feet, but Will had managed to fit his entire body onto it and seemed no worse for the wear.

He was going to be, though. If he did not make space for Hannibal to make dinner, he was going to  _ be _ dinner.

“Off, Will,” Hannibal commanded. Will peered over his shoulder in sleepy displeasure. Hannibal was tempted to cup water from the sink into his hands and upend it over Will’s back, a trick he was certain would have worked on any ordinary cat.

But Will was a Hybrid, and therefore capable of communication and reason. He huffed loudly, the unhappy noise of someone who wanted the world at large to know that they were doing something because they  _ had _ to, and they were not at all happy about it. Will slid from the counter in a fluid motion, his tail flicking irritably behind him as he wandered off to find another spot of sun elsewhere in the house. Hannibal sighed and reached for his tablet to order a Pet bed.

_____

Will’s newfound confidence seemed to extend throughout the house. Whereas before he had been a ghost of a thing, slipping in and out of rooms as if he’d hardly been there at all, now his presence could be felt. Hannibal had needed to start clearing out Will’s room while he napped; he was extraordinarily tidy for a Pet, but he’d started collecting things. Hannibal’s cufflinks- set on the kitchen counter after a late night out- disappeared, only to be discovered underneath Will’s bed a week later. Hannibal only found them at all because of the flash of red out of the corner of his eyes as he passed. Will had swiped a few other shiny baubles from throughout the house, as well as a book Hannibal swore he’d read twice already, and even Hannibal’s favorite red sweater. Hannibal had chosen not to chide him for it. Will could hardly be expected to deny his own instincts, and it was better to have some harmless hoarding than a wisp of a creature who hid when called.

Will’s toys got little use. He preferred the contents of Hannibal’s library, devouring book after book, his appetite for information unmatched. Hannibal had amassed a bit of everything, over the years. Will liked best a thick leather-bound encyclopedia from the early 1900s. He lingered over the carefully inked illustrations of fish and the classic implements with which to catch them. It would hold his attention for so long that Hannibal had put some thought into a trip, come the warmer months.

Hannibal had given up on feathered strings and skeins of yarn, which saw little use other than to be secreted under Will’s bed. He was much happier to add to his library, and soon there was an entire shelf devoted to Will’s newfound interests, while the toy basket gathered dust on his dresser.

There  _ was _ the matter of the laser pointer, but Hannibal had not bothered to feel guilty about that. It seemed ridiculous to have amassed such an abundance of toys and not use a single one of them, after all. And frankly, Hannibal had been  _ bored. _ He could not help but be curious about Will, who renounced most Hybrid traits and secretly indulged several of them anyway. And it had been nearly hilarious to watch Will, the way he stiffened when the red dot appeared on the pages of his book. His ears twitched, his tail flicked back and forth where it curved over the arm of the seat.

“I know it’s a light,” he’d said to Hannibal, but his voice had gone very shaky. Hannibal shifted the dot slightly. Will slammed the book closed, attempting to catch the light in his hands. The attempt failed, of course, and Will had leapt from his seat to smack his hand against the red dot that now slid over the floor. He chased it another few feet, playful predator instincts overwhelming him, before he seemed to come to his senses.

He’d attempted to claw Hannibal right across the face for that one, but Hannibal had been faster, and in the end it had been agreed that Will could have some extra chocolate chips while Hannibal threw the toy away, and they need never speak of it again. It had been, in Hannibal’s opinion, entirely worth it.

_____

“Will.”

Will did not look up from his book. Hannibal had, on a whim, supplied him with a how-to book on fishing lures, indulging both Will’s Hybrid-based interests in fish and interesting baubles, and his more human interest with the concept of fishing itself. Will had begun to ask vague questions about fishing seasons and licenses, and Hannibal had no doubt that he’d find himself out on a river sooner or later, should Will ever get the courage to stop beating around the bush.

The lure book had been an instant success, although Hannibal could do without the feathers he was finding everywhere, now that Will had taken to tearing apart his Cat toys. Better those than the bedding, he supposed.

“Will,” Hannibal repeated again, as patiently as he could manage. Will, like most C/cats, had a tendency to ignore Hannibal if his own activity was more interesting than whatever Hannibal might have at hand. However, he also had a habit of losing himself entirely to his concentration, and now was one such moment. He had his ‘reading’ face on, scrunched lines across the bridge of his nose as he squinted at the pages – Hannibal made a mental note to see if they made reading glasses for Cat’s eyes – and the tiniest hint of tongue peeking out from between his lips. Will blinked down at the book as Hannibal called him again, and then looked up, tongue still pressed between his teeth. It was almost cute, until Will realized and shut his mouth hard enough that his teeth clicked together, a red flush settling over his cheeks.

“What?” Will asked stiffly. Hannibal did not call him out on his attitude; it rarely got him anywhere.

“Before you arrived, I regularly hosted dinner parties,” Hannibal explained. “It’s been quite a while since I was able to do so, and no doubt my friends have started to assume the worst.”

“Dinner parties,” Will said flatly. His eyes had gotten that glassy look they sometimes took on when things overwhelmed him. Further attempts to coax Will to a barber or a department store had all resulted in that look, and the bathroom haircuts had continued.

“You needn’t be a part of them,” Hannibal explained, “You are free to sequester yourself upstairs with some books.”

“But you’d  _ like _ me to be,” Will surmised, closing his book and setting it aside. He always sat slightly tilted in chairs, to accommodate for the base of his tail, but now he straightened, crossing his legs and folding his hands together in a pose Hannibal recognized as his own.

“Further socialization can only be good for you,” Hannibal said, “I cannot be your only friend, and I’m sure I could coax several attendees into bringing their Pets-“

“Is that what we are,” Will interrupted, though by now he surely knew how much such rudeness chafed at Hannibal, “Friends?” He smiled wide enough to show off his fangs, but there was no happiness to his expression. Only a sharp-eyed suspicion. He shifted to rest his hands on the armrests. His nails, dulled by recent filing, tapped at the curve of the fabric. Hannibal had the sudden feeling that he was standing very close to a cliff’s edge. It was a frequent feeling, in conversations with Will.

“I’d imagine we are friends,” Hannibal said carefully, “We share most meals together. We sit here, in the evenings, and enjoy each other’s company. We discuss our books.”

“Forced proximity,” Will hissed out, “Because I can’t  _ leave _ .”

“That is not my fault.” Hannibal’s tone was firm, and unapologetic. Will could rant and rail against Hannibal all he liked for his captivity, but the law was the law, and Will had been destined for recall when Hannibal found him, particularly with the way he reacted to humans. It was obvious now, to Hannibal, that Will could not be the only pet unhappy with his lot in life. No doubt those who could not be properly trained were quietly recalled before anyone ever noticed.  _ That,  _ even Will could not blame Hannibal for.

Will deflated a bit, his ears flattening against his head. He reached up to toy with his collar again, trailing a dulled claw against the smooth metal lengths. “You could have left me,” He whispered, “Sent me out the door and on my way. I wouldn’t have returned.”

“And you could be put down six months from now instead of immediately,” Hannibal said, unphased by Will’s flinch. He grew tired of having this same argument. Will’s stubbornness seemed to know no limits.

Will leaned back in his chair, his tail and ears both twitching. “ _ Friendship _ requires a certain degree of… enjoyment. Do you  _ enjoy  _ me, Hannibal?”

There was a double meaning behind Will’s words, as sharp as a chef’s blade. It was not the first time he had implied a more intimate purpose for his placements with his previous owners. He seemed to be waiting for Hannibal to force him, no matter how many times Hannibal had proved he wouldn’t. He was not a Kitten anymore, and boyish looks had been traded in for those of a man. Perhaps there had been other owners with more patience, who had lured him in with promises of friendship and kindness. Hannibal didn’t know, and Will did not seem willing to tell him.

Perhaps, given Will’s sudden, and immediate hesitation, there had even been  _ parties _ .  _ That _ twisted something low in Hannibal’s gut, something more remnant of typical human fondness and sympathy than he was entirely comfortable with.

“I enjoy your company,” Hannibal said, “I enjoy your conversational skills, when your words are not aimed to wound. Isn’t that friendship?”

Will tilted his head to the side. Sometimes he seemed to go immense stretches of time without blinking, as if unable to let Hannibal slip from his gaze for even a second. As if the mere act itself would give danger a chance to come for him. He did so now. Hannibal, mimicking a book on Cats, blinked with a measurable slowness. If Will noticed his intent, he showed no sign of it.

“I don’t want to go to the party,” Will finally said, “but we both know I can’t tell you what to do in your own home.”

“Perhaps,” Hannibal allowed, “but nor do I relish the idea of making you feel trapped in  _ your _ own home.”

A blink, this time. He’d caught Will off-guard. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed slowly. “Have your party, Hannibal,” he said, voice a near-whisper, “we are all in need of the occasional company, aren’t we?”

_____

The party was set for two weeks out. Hannibal plied Will with a liberal amount of chocolate mousse, indulging his sweet tooth, and the drugs he’d laced it with did their work. He left Will asleep in bed and went out to find some groceries.

He returned to an empty guest bedroom, and Will nowhere in sight. The door had still been locked, however, and Will did not have a house key. There had never been a need for one.

Will’s shoes were still in their place in the entry hall, as was the coat it was much too cold to go out without. The windows were still locked, nothing was amiss beyond the rumpled sheets of Will’s bed and Will’s bowl overturned on the kitchen counter. His treats had been spilled out across the marble countertops, but had Will packed a bag to run, he would not have left the chocolate behind.

There was no reason for Hannibal to worry. Will would surely turn up when he was ready, and if he didn’t, then Hannibal’s life would return to the ease he’d had before. Hannibal continued to search anyway, wandering the house room by room in search of his wayward Pet.

He almost didn’t hear the wail at first, muffled as it was through an excellently soundproofed home. He caught it on his way back up the stairs, a low, mournful little mew. Hannibal traced the noise down the hall as the frequency increased, until he could hear Will’s frantic, terrified whines spilling from Hannibal’s own bedroom, the one room he’d felt he could rule out without checking.

Hannibal’s furniture and decorations had been carefully planned. The guest room that Will resided in had an airy feel to it, the bed high enough off the ground for Will to scurry under to hide his treasures. In contrast, everything in Hannibal’s room was solid, sturdy. The bed rose just high enough off the ground to enable a bed skirt, and no further. It was here that he found Will.

Will, like most Cat Hybrids, was a great deal more flexible than most human men, but he was still nearly six feet tall and leanly muscled. He had, for reasons known only to himself, curled himself within Hannibal’s bedsheets, and then at some point tumbled to the floor. Whether in sleep or in stress, he had worked his way under the bed skirt, twisting his shoulders until he was quite thoroughly hidden… and also caught. Hannibal could see the tip of a tail, ruffled and bushed up with Will’s terror, and the rest was tangled bedsheets. Will’s whines turned to sobs, sharply terrified, and Hannibal hurried to the other side of the bed.

Under the bed skirt, Will’s eyes were wild, unseeing. His pupils had blown wide, chasing color from them entirely, and his claws scrabbled desperately at the carpet. Even trimmed, they were sharp enough to pull up fibers and leave deep scratches in the flooring, but Hannibal found he didn’t care.

“Will,” Hannibal said, keeping his tone even, “I need you to calm down.”

Will moaned, a low and loud sound that stretched into a yowl. “I don’t know where I am,” he moaned, his words slurring together. Hannibal realized with a start that he was not even properly awake, caught in that horrifying place between nightmares and reality.

Hannibal reached out and gripped Will’s wrists tightly. Will shrieked, gnashing his teeth, unable to get close enough to bite. “You’re with me, Will,” Hannibal said gently, “we are here, together in our home. I can get you free, but I need you to calm down.” He tightened his grip, squeezing tight enough to feel the bones and tendons in Will’s wrists shift as he thrashed.

Will yelped in pain, but when he blinked, his eyes seemed a bit clearer. He locked onto Hannibal, meeting his gaze. Hannibal blinked slowly and then politely averted his eyes to Will’s jaw. The tension dropped out of Will’s body in a rush. “Hannibal?” He murmured, confused and frightened, but most definitely awake.

“You’ve been sleep walking again,” Hannibal said, struggling to keep a note of accusation out of his voice, “but you are safe. You’ve gotten yourself stuck under my bed. You’re tangled in the bedsheets, but I can help you slide back out. I just need you to stay very calm, and very still. Can you do that for me?”

Will blinked, apparently too tired for his usual irritated protestations. He nodded solemnly, although Hannibal saw him reach out, perhaps on instinct, when Hannibal released his wrists.

It had taken a lot of work for Will to be comfortable showing Hannibal his back, and Hannibal was well aware of the level of trust needed for Will to allow him to fuss around so close when Will could not see him. He did not take advantage, touching as little as possible as he disentangled Will from the sheets. “I’m going to lift the bed now,” He explained, “And I will need you to crawl backwards as quickly as you can. The bed is very heavy, and I cannot lift it much or for very long. Are you ready?”

A moment of silence. Will’s tail, still puffy with fear, twitched back and forth around Hannibal’s feet. “I’m ready,” Will finally said, his voice small and still filled with distress.

Hannibal gripped the bedframe in both hands and hefted it up. He prided himself on his strength, but he could barely get the heavy wooden furniture an inch off the ground, just enough room to free Will’s body.

Will squirmed his way out from under the bed, and then kept going. He scrambled back, until his spine smacked against the dresser with a painful sounding thud. Hannibal dropped the bed and lowered himself to his knees, reaching out for Will’s hand.

Will jerked back, smacking his head against the dresser. He whined at the impact, cradling his head in both hands. He stayed hunched like that for a long moment, before peering up at Hannibal with wide eyes. “Sorry,” He murmured, but Hannibal left him his space regardless. Clearly, Will’s nighttime terrors made him defensive, and Hannibal had no interest in shattering the fragile peace they’d found together.

“You’ve been sleepwalking again,” Hannibal said, offering Will the sheets he’d been tangled in. Will took them gratefully, wrapping himself in a small cocoon of fabric, another barrier between himself and the night. “Why didn’t you tell me you were still having trouble sleeping?”

“Why weren’t you in your bed when I crawled into it at three in the morning?” Will countered, baring his teeth. There was little venom in his voice. Fear made him rude, defensive, but Hannibal thought Will’s goal was deflection rather than discovery.

“Nightmares,” Hannibal lied. Like all the best lies, it held some truth in it, twisted slightly to fit the teller’s needs. “I’ve had them since I was very young.”

Will looked up at him, startled. “Nightmares strong enough to chase you from your bed?”

“They come on and off,” Hannibal said, “I may go months without one, then have three in a week.” Just a little bit of honesty could go a long way. Will relaxed, his shoulders dropping as his curiosity was peaked. “We never really escape our past,” Hannibal continued, “some things, I’m afraid, will always linger.”

Will drooped entirely, tucking his chin against his knees. “Yeah,” he mumbled, “I guess they will.”

_____

Will’s mood had not improved the next day, nor the one after that. He moved through the house as silently as ever, but there was a heaviness to his limbs that had not been there before, a thick exhaustion that extended through his every motion. Hannibal watched him more carefully now, and drugged him more deeply if he had to go out.

There was a fevered scent to Will that Hannibal could not place. He had theories, of course, but research into Hybrid illnesses was still in its infancy. There were diseases of both animal and man that they were immune to, and others they shared. Some illnesses could be treated in the classic way, others led down the steep slope to euthanasia. Especially if the treatment was expensive. There would always be other Pets, after all.

Hannibal treated the symptoms, for now. He tucked Will back to bed when he wandered, and kept a close eye out for other issues. A headache seemed the most common.

“Will?”

Will gave a soft, muffled noise that might have been an aborted meow, and lifted his head. There were thick dark circles under his eyes. It was the third time Hannibal had walked into a room to find him sitting with his forehead pressed against a wall, or in this case, the cool door of the refrigerator.

“Aching again?” Hannibal asked sympathetically. Will made another noise, this one accompanied by a slow nod of his head. Hannibal fetched the aspirin from his bag and poured out two. Will swallowed them dry and pressed his forehead back against the refrigerator.

“No, no more of that,” Hannibal said, holding out a hand to help Will up, “You’ll feel much better if you go lie down in bed for a bit until dinner.”

“No,” Will grumbled, “Can we start the fire early? It’s too cold up there.”

It wasn’t. It was a perfectly reasonable 70 degrees in the house, as Hannibal and Will both preferred it. Hannibal frowned and pressed a hand to Will’s forehead. It was obscenely warm, and damp with sweat. Will’s whole body looked slick, now that he took a second glance. “Perhaps we might make a call to the Vet, instead?” Hannibal suggested lightly.

Will hissed at him, baring his fangs and jerking back. It had been a long time since Hannibal had gotten a genuinely angry hiss aimed in his direction, and he watched Will with some concern. “No Vet,” Will growled, “I’m fine. I have a cold.”

“You’ve had this cold for a while now,” Hannibal insisted. Will shook his head, his ears flat and his tail twitching anxiously. Hannibal sighed. “Alright. No Vet.  _ For now _ ,” he added, with a stern look in Will’s direction. “We can take the weekend to see if you improve with some rest. But I can’t let you run that fever forever, Will.”

“The weekend,” Will agreed, ears flicking the way they did when he fibbed. They’d have a new fight come Monday, Hannibal was sure of it. “You’ll start the fire?”

“Yes,” Hannibal conceded, “Let me get my things put away, and I’ll come start the fire for you.”

_____

The slip of socked feet across the floor roused Hannibal from his sleep. His first thought was that Will was sleepwalking again, but when he rolled to face him, Will’s eyes were clear, if a bit bloodshot.

“Did you need more medicine?” Hannibal asked. Will shook his head, a flush across his face, eyes darting around the room. He had his tail in his hands, his fingers running gently over the end. It was a nervous gesture Hannibal had rarely seen from the Cat.

“It’s warmer in here,” Will said with a flick of his ears. “And darker. You don’t have a window.”

“I don’t,” Hannibal agreed. The master bathroom was between his bedroom and the external wall of the house. “Are you having trouble sleeping, Will?”

“No,” Will said immediately. His ears twitched again. “It smells better in here. My room needs to be vacuumed.”

“You hate it when I vacuum,” Hannibal reminded him, “Last time you knocked over the flowers in the hall and got dirt everywhere.”

“Yeah, well, you should warn a guy before you start blasting noises like that,” Will muttered, his face going redder. Hannibal took pity on him.

“I’ll vacuum tomorrow. But in the meantime, I suppose your room is uninhabitable for the night, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Will said with a grateful little sigh, “I can’t sleep there.”

Hannibal lifted up the corner of his sheets. In a bed as large as his, there was no reason he couldn’t share it for one night. They needn’t even touch.

And in the morning, he could push the issue of the Vet again, if Will’s night terrors and sleepwalking were bothering him so badly.

Will crawled into the bed, his body stiff as he curled up as far from Hannibal as he could without rolling right off. He laid as rigid as stone for several long minutes, until he realized that Hannibal had no intention of encroaching on his space. Then, he unraveled, his limbs going limp as he finally drifted off. Hannibal watched him for a moment more, tracing a finger over his forehead. Will’s eyes fluttered, sleepily locking in on Hannibal until he pulled his hand away, and then closing once more.

The fever was still going.


	5. Chapter 5

In the morning, Hannibal let Will sleep in. His ears and tail were both restlessly twitching, even in sleep, and Hannibal wanted him to get as much rest as he could before the inevitable Vet trip. Although, more sleep meant more energy to fight and claw his way back out of the car, so Hannibal supposed he was only dooming himself. Funny, the lengths one would go to in order to maintain a life they had grown accustomed to.

And Hannibal had, indeed, grown accustomed to it. He had adjusted to Will’s mood swings, to his habits and hobbies. Weekly nail trims, monthly hair trims. Vacuuming debris out from under Will’s bed, scooping out a week’s worth of hoarded treasures. Anything Hannibal could live without, he tucked away in the toy basket that Will had otherwise ignored. A few loose buttons from the emergency sewing kit, a refrigerator magnet, and even a pair of old cufflinks that Hannibal supposed he could replace. The diamond cufflinks, however, Hannibal reclaimed, as well as the watch he’d been missing since Tuesday.

The last thing Hannibal pulled from beneath the bed was an aspirin bottle. Empty, despite the label that proudly proclaimed it ‘Family Sized’ and holding 200 pills. Hannibal stared at it for a long moment, and then closed his eyes with a sigh. Will still didn’t trust him, at least not enough to speak up about his pain. But then, perhaps that was the cat in him. The books had said that Cats were private, that they rarely vocalized pain and discomfort.

Still, enough was enough.

____

“No.”

“I wasn’t asking permission, Will.”

Will glared at Hannibal over a stack of pancakes. Hannibal had tried to soften him up by appealing to his sweet tooth, but it seemed to be a wasted effort. “I see you’re finally taking advantage of your ownership of me,” Will growled.

“Will, don’t.”

“Yes, Master.” Will’s tone was sarcastic enough to touch old nerves that Hannibal had thought dormant around the Hybrid. He hadn’t fantasized about killing Will in weeks. Months, even. Had it really been so long together?

Hannibal placed the empty aspirin bottle on the table. Will stared at it, his ears flat against his head and his teeth bared. He looked more like he’d been confronted with a loaded gun than proof of a headache.

“You said I was welcome to the medication,” Will hissed.

“And so you are. But  _ you _ said you would tell me if you felt worse.”

Will glanced away from Hannibal, flushed. “It’s not  _ worse _ ,” he protested, “it’s… It’s more of a stable, steady ache. There’s no comedown. But it’s not  _ worse _ .”

“Worse in persistence, if not in pain itself. Will, you need to go to the Vet.”

“Why can’t I go to a hospital?” Will asked, his fists clenching tighter around his silverware.

“You know why.”

Because Will’s anatomy was different, his immune system unfamiliar to standard doctors and veterinarians. Because they would take one look at his ears, his tail, and dismiss him. Because he was not human, however much Hannibal attempted to treat him as one. A low, disgruntled growl built in Will’s chest. Hannibal let it be. He had tried to leave as much of Will’s life up to his own design as he could, but there were some places where Will simply couldn’t have his own way.

“You don’t know what they’ll do to me,” Will whispered.

“Nothing I don’t consent to,” Hannibal insisted, “And I will sign nothing without you reading over my shoulder. You need care, Will. There’s something very wrong.”

Will turned the full force of his glare onto the pancakes. The pancakes failed to be intimidated. He stabbed at them, as if that might help terrorize items that lacked the ability to fear him. Certainly, it was getting him a lot further than glaring at Hannibal, who would not be swayed. “Fine,” Will mumbled.

“Excellent. We’ll go as soon as you’ve finished murdering your breakfast.”

Will flicked a forkful of eggs at him. Terrible, wretched thing.

_____

Will had to be leashed for the Vet, of course, and he hated it as much as he had the first time. He tugged at it constantly, despite Hannibal’s efforts to leave him with as much slack as he desired. Will would be unsatisfied unless he could rip the thing to shreds in its entirety, and Hannibal eventually gave up on pleasing him, focusing instead on making it through the door of the Hybrid Health Clinic. It was different from the shelter he’d taken Will to before, more upscale. It had been built into the side of the nearest hospital, allowing them to offer more extensive care than shelters could.

As expected, the man working the desk immediately homed in on Will and cooed the dreaded words, “Aww, who’s a pretty Kitty?” Will shot Hannibal a look of absolute disgust, and Hannibal stared right back until he backed down. The last thing they needed right now was for Will to cause a scene.

“This is Will,” Hannibal explained to the man, “I called first thing this morning for an emergency appointment.

“The poor thing with the fevers and headaches?” the man asked sympathetically, handing over forms for Hannibal to fill out. Hannibal scrawled down a few notes and handed it back, Will a stiff ball of tension at his side. “You two can have a seat, and Dr. Marx will be with you shortly.”

“Poor ‘ _ thing _ ,’” Will hissed as they sat down, giving Hannibal a dirty look, as though  _ he _ had been the one to say it.

“Not all of your kind are as vibrant as you are, dear Will.”

“Only because no one ever expects anything of them,” Will scoffed, “Hard to live up to a potential no one thinks you have.”

“Regardless,” Hannibal said patiently, “I’d like to get through this visit without another incident on your record, wouldn’t you?”

Will rolled his eyes, pulling his knees up to his chest in the little plastic chair. He barely fit that way, too tall to cram his entire body into such a small space, but stubbornly kept himself curled. Hannibal sighed and handed over his tablet.

“Here,” Hannibal told him, “amuse yourself.”

Will poked distrustfully at the screen. Hannibal generally kept the tablet to himself, although he had, on occasion, shared a video or two with Will. It didn’t take long for Will to discover the kindle app, and the news, switching back and forth between the two at a pace so rapid he could not possibly have been taking anything in. Still, if it kept Will out of trouble, Hannibal couldn’t care less what he did. He had the same apps on his phone and could content himself with his own perusal of the news.

“Another murder,” Will murmured after a moment. Hannibal glanced over at the screen to see a high-definition image of his own kill, from the night Will had gotten trapped beneath the bedding. “A vain, self-obsessed man. He’ll have been someone of status, but someone who  _ thought _ they were more important than they were.”

Hannibal recognized the tell-tale colors of Tattlecrime.com. He’d read the same article. It didn’t mention that theory. “What makes you say that?”

“Daffodils where his heart should be,” Will said, tracing a finger over the picture, “daffodils, of the genus Narcissus. Narcissus was so in love with his own reflection that he fell into the pool and drowned. This man’s vanity killed him, or so the killer feels. “

Hannibal stared at Will for a long moment. “An interesting observation. I see you’ve been reading more than just your fishing encyclopedias.”

Will shrugged. “You’re gone a lot and I get bored. You have a lot of books.”

“That I do.” Hannibal was curious what else Will had found in his shelves, but before he could ask, the door opened, and the doctor called to them.

Dr. Marx was a tall woman with a warm smile and cold hands. She shook Hannibal’s politely, and then immediately went for Will’s hair, ruffling it and pulling gently at his ears. Hannibal immediately grabbed for Will’s shoulders, hauling him back and out of striking range.

“He’s a rescue,” Hannibal explained over Will’s displeased growl. Dr. Marx did not look impressed.

“Well, I’m still going to have to take a look at those ears as part of the basic check-up,” she said, leading them to the examination table. Hannibal held out a hand to help Will up onto it – which Will ignored in favor of hopping up on his own – and then looped the leash around the hook provided. Will glared at it hatefully, presumably to avoid glaring at Hannibal hatefully instead. “So,” Dr. Marx said, clapping her hands together cheerfully, “what brings you in today?”

She was looking at Hannibal when she asked, but Hannibal had stepped back, leaving Will to answer. “A headache,” he said, glancing over at Hannibal, “nearly constant. Worse in bright lights, but it doesn’t go away in the dark. A fever, as well, and I’m having trouble sleeping. More so than usual. I’ve been wandering in my sleep, I never used to sleepwalk.”

The doctor hummed as she began her exam, checking his ears first, even as Will flinched and the two points twitched in agitation. “Has he experienced any other pains?” She asked Hannibal, “muscle aches, fatigue?”

Hannibal looked at Will over her shoulder, waiting. Will looked furious, but unsurprised, though some of that anger vanished when he realized Hannibal was allowing him to answer instead. “Some,” Will admitted, “And I’m exhausted. I don’t sleep well on a normal night, and as a Cat I sleep more than most, but I barely open my eyes these days before I’m closing them again.”

The doctor moved to take his temperature next, frowning at the result. “Has he had any seizures? Loss of time, dissociative episodes?”

This time Will let out a little grumble before he answered, “Sometimes I blink in the morning and Hannibal is coming home from work. Or I find myself in the kitchen when I’d just been in the bathroom. Last week I set my glass down and Hannibal found it the next morning.”

He hadn’t told Hannibal any of this, and Hannibal couldn’t help the wave of concern that washed over him. Dr. Marx did not look pleased either, glancing up at Hannibal with a pinched expression.

“Does he seem confused, to you? More easily agitated than usual? Has he complained about any hallucinations-“

Will hissed as she went to check his pupils, batting the light out of her hands. It skidded across the room to land at Hannibal’s feet, where he picked it up and brushed away imaginary specks of dirt. He tried to keep Will polite, but the doctor had earned this one.

“I’m the one who’s sick,” Will yelled, fangs bared, “I’m the one talking to you, not him! Look at me, damn it!”

Dr. Marx looked to Hannibal, as if expecting him to step in. “I’ve never much seen the point in attempting to control Will,” he told her, “he will or will not do as he pleases, regardless of my opinion.”

Dr. Marx straightened herself up. “Sometimes,” she said stiffly, “the ones around us have a better idea of what we’re going through. Particularly when they have a better idea of what to look for. You did sign the papers as ‘Doctor’ Hannibal Lecter, did you not?” She added in Hannibal’s direction.

“I did, and it was on my suggestion that we came today,” Hannibal told her, “but Will knows better than I what goes on in his head.”

Dr. Marx didn’t look pleased, but turned back to Will, who gave her a toothy and utterly malicious grin.

“You never know if you don’t ask,” Will told her, his voice still hissed dangerously through his teeth.

“Then answer the question,” Dr. Marx said, “And perhaps I can help you feel better, hmm?”

Will did not growl again, but it was clear to Hannibal that he wanted to. “I suppose Hannibal would say I’m always agitated, but yes, I think I’m more easily frustrated than normal,” He said, allowing Dr. Marx to check his pupils once she’d retrieved her tool from Hannibal. “And… I’m hearing things,” he admitted.

“What sort of things?” Dr. Marx asked grudgingly, eyeing up the startled look Hannibal had given Will.

“Hooves,” Will murmured, “a stag wandering by. Animals scratching at the chimney.”

“Cat hybrids such as yourself sometimes report enhanced hearing,” the doctor offered, “you may just be picking up on the neighbor’s raccoon problem.”

“But there are no stags wandering down the streets of Baltimore,” Will pointed out, “not the part  _ we _ live in, anyway.”

The doctor stepped back, sighing. “I’d like to run some tests,” she said, turning her back on Will completely to speak to Hannibal, “And we’ll need him to stay overnight for observation.”

“No!” Will yelped, straightening up on the table. He looked the way he’d looked when they’d gone to the salon all those months ago: suddenly and completely terrified.

“You’d be able to pick him up in the morning,” Dr. Marx continued, as though Will hadn’t spoken.

Will looked at Hannibal with wide, unseeing eyes. “Hannibal,” he whispered, “ _ please _ .”

“I’d prefer to stay with Will, if it’s all the same,” Hannibal found himself saying.

Dr. Marx rolled her eyes with a good-natured smile. “You’ll spoil him if you keep that up,” she chided, “anyway, I’m afraid we’re not set up for that. You’ll have to spend the night at home and pick him up in the morning, as I said.”

“He’d be able to stay if we were in the regular hospital,” Will interjected.

“Well, we  _ aren’t _ in the regular hospital,” Dr. Marx said, “and we need you in this part where we can monitor you. Our rooms are small. There’s nowhere for him to sleep.

“Then I’m not staying,” Will said, scrabbling at the leash, yanking it down off the hook and clutching it to his chest as if to keep it away from roaming hands. Hannibal went immediately to his side, holding out his hand for Will to inspect and approve before he placed it on Will’s shoulder. “I’m not staying,” Will whispered up at him, “I’ll run, I swear I’ll run. Don’t make me stay here, I know what they’ll do.”

Hannibal had no idea what thoughts had darkened Will’s mind, but he had no interest in shattering the trust they’d already built. He turned to Dr. Marx, drawing a business card from his billfold. “I was a surgeon, before I was a psychiatrist. Will would be safe at home with me, and in the morning, we would return for you to complete your tests.

Dr. Marx looked between Will and Hannibal. “You’d rather take him home, against medical advice, than have him stay here a single night where I can observe him properly?”

Hannibal smiled placidly. “I have concerns about Will’s behavior, should he be left here unsupervised. He’s still in recovery, after all, and one must be gentle with rescue Pets.”

“I’m not sure how you got your hands on a rescue to begin with,” Dr. Marx muttered, “I think I’ve seen  _ two _ in my ten years here, including yours.”

“Will came to me,” Hannibal said, “call it fate.”

“I’ll call it codependency, is what I’ll call it,” Dr. Marx complained, “I can get you a chair, but that’s the best I can do for you. We don’t have room for a cot and I won’t have my patient wandering the hospital. If you sign him out, it’s against my professional advice. You may have been a human surgeon, Dr. Lecter, but  _ I _ am the Hybrid Veterinarian.”

“And I defer to your wisdom,” Hannibal told her, with a smooth, unwavering smile, “A chair will be plenty, thank you for your kindness.”

“Don’t thank me for enabling you,” Dr. Marx grumbled.

_____

Will did not settle, once they were tucked into a room to await tests. His tail and ears continued their stressful twitching, fur standing on end. He looked even more alarmed when Hannibal suggested leaving to pick up some essentials from home.

“You promised,” he hissed, reaching out to sink his claws into Hannibal’s sleeve. Hannibal easily untangled the fabric but allowed Will to wrap his fingers around Hannibal’s wrist. “You said you weren’t going to leave me here.”

“And I won’t,” Hannibal explained patiently, “But the tablet battery will only last so long, and you and I will both be more comfortable with a change of clothes. Unless you’d prefer to stay in a gown all night?

Will had been offered a backless hospital gown to make tests and examinations easier, and he’d gone very indignantly red at the sight of it. He had remnants of the flush now, kneading the claws of his free hand into the thin hospital blanket. “The tests,” he said, more to his lap than to Hannibal. His grip was uncomfortably tight, but Hannibal allowed it.

“There will be several,” Hannibal agreed, “And I will stay for much of them. But eventually, I will have to go home, and gather our things. And you will have to remain here.”

Will drew in a shuddery breath. He was not the type to cry, but there was a tremor to his body that Hannibal generally only saw on him in the dead of night. “You’ll come right back?” He asked, his voice a whisper.

Hannibal bent his back, until he could look Will properly in the eyes, though Will avoided his gaze as always. “I will come right back,” he promised.

Will’s hand clenched tighter on his wrist, and then finally released him. “Fine,” he muttered, “if you have to.”

_____

They took blood from Will first, and then rolled him in a wheelchair to the other half of the hospital for an MRI. He did fine with the former, but the latter had him scrabbling out of the chair, regardless of the backless gown he wore.

“I can’t go in there,” he told Hannibal, his claws scraping at the locked door, “I can’t, I can’t.”

Will typically liked small spaces, but only those he found for himself. Loud, cramped, and with a table that would drag Will in without his input, the MRI machine might as well have been a torture device.

“We can sedate him,” a nurse offered Hannibal. Will shot Hannibal a horrified look.

“You need the tests, Will,” he said, “and you need to be still for them.”

Will growled, low and long, but when Hannibal reached for him, he went.

“What bothers you about these things?” Hannibal asked quietly.

“Always feels like I won’t come back out,” Will muttered, laying back onto the table.

“Don’t worry,” Hannibal told him, “I won’t leave you here.”

They tucked Will back into his room soon after, and Hannibal took his leave. Will watched him with narrowed eyes all the way out the door, and then a nurse locked the room behind Hannibal.

_____

Dr. Marx was waiting when Hannibal returned. She had a look of abject displeasure on her face, and a raised pink scratch across her arm. Just the one line, so Will had at least managed some restraint. His nails were too dull to break skin easily, but that was unlikely to be much comfort to the irritated Vet.

“I warned you he was a rescue,” Hannibal told her, “they can be a bit difficult.”

“Difficult, I can handle,” Dr. Marx snorted, “your Kitty is a  _ menace _ .”

“He is that,” Hannibal agreed, “What is it you needed from him?”

“Whenever we have an anxious Hybrid, we like to start them on an IV drip. It soothes their nerves and helps curb their desire to wander out of bed. It’s standard procedure, nothing you would have needed to sign for, but he was very insistent you be here before we, and I quote, ‘poke at him like a fucking pincushion’ again.  _ Very _ insistent.” She held up her arm, the solitary scratch staring back at Hannibal.

“Crude,” Hannibal mused, “But descriptive. And I  _ did _ promise him I would be back shortly.”

“Good. Then maybe  _ you _ can get him to be still before I have to fully sedate and crate him?”

Hannibal tried to imagine the look on Will’s face if he was forced into a Pet crate, ostensibly large but still small enough to force a tall man to curl up into the bedding. Then he imagined Will sharpening his claws while Hannibal slept. “I’m sure we can manage,” he said, stepping inside the moment Dr. Marx unlocked the door.

Will hissed before Hannibal had fully entered the room. He looked positively feral, crouched under the hospital bed and almost entirely hidden by the blanket that hung off the foot. All Hannibal could see was a mop of curls and the reflection of the light off one wide, blue eye. He crouched a few feet away, out of swiping range, but close enough for Will to get a proper whiff of his scent.

“We talked about this,” He said, over the high warning grown Will had begun to emit, “I told you I would be back, I gave you an estimated length of time.”

“Should have told  _ her _ that,” Will hissed, “Hands all over me, poking and stabbing.”

“A mild relaxant,” Hannibal assured him, “something to lower your stress levels and make the day go easier for you.”

“My stress levels are  _ fine _ .” This obvious lie was accompanied by a twitch of the blanket, Will’s tail flicking irritably back and forth in his hiding spot. “I’m not going to let them stab me full of tranquilizers so I sit prettier for them while they cut me open.”

“Nobody is cutting you open,” Hannibal said. “We don’t even know what’s wrong yet, and I promised you complete transparency as soon as I knew, did I not? Have I broken a promise yet, Will?”

Will tilted his head, until both eyes, and then the rest of his head were visible beyond the cloth barrier. “No,” he admitted, his face scrunched up in grudging acknowledgment, “But  _ they _ do.”

“Not while I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere else until we check you out. Now, will you come out of there and get settled so I can go discuss your test results with the doctor?”

“I don’t want to be sedated,” Will told him firmly.

“They won’t have to sedate you if you come out and let them do what needs to be done. I’m not going to let them hurt you, Will.”

Hannibal had not tried to soothe another person in years, not genuinely. He comforted people as part of his employment, or to keep the relationships he had to maintain for the lifestyle he preferred, but he had not provided care for the sake of the recipient since he’d been a young man in Paris. 

They  _ did  _ say Pets could change a man.

Will crawled out, his eyes and ears both aimed towards the door. He climbed back into the bed, pulling his knees up to his chest and glaring across the room. Hannibal handed him the book he’d left by the bed at home. “I’m going out into the hall to speak to the doctor,” he said, “I will be  _ right _ in the hall. I am not leaving you, Will. No one will be able to come in without walking past me.”

Will took the book gratefully, looking up at Hannibal and biting hard on his lower lip. One day, he was going to bite clean through it with those fangs of his, but that never seemed to stop him. Hannibal pulled Will’s stuffed dog out of his duffel bag and set it on the bed beside him.

“I don’t need this,” Will said, startled and red faced.

“You keep it tucked under your pillow when I come in to clean and I pretend not to notice,” Hannibal corrected, “It is okay to have a comfort object, Will.”

“I’m a 29-year-old man.”

“You’re also a Hybrid with Cat instincts. Both Cats and Dogs have favorite toys.”

“Cats generally prefer to disembowel theirs,” Will pointed out, “Or at least pretend to.”

“Not always. And everyone likes something soft that smells familiar to lay on.”

Will reached out a finger, trailing the blunt tip of his claw over the slightly worn fur of the dog’s ear. “Hannibal?” He said quietly, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Will?”

“Yes?”

“Please don’t scratch anymore Clinic staff.”

Will grinned. “I’ll try.”

_____

Dr. Marx was waiting for Hannibal in the hall, discussing a clipboard with an intern. “We are declining the IV for now,” Hannibal told her, “We’ll reconsider once we know more about what’s wrong with Will.

Dr. Marx rolled her eyes. “You spoil him,” she accused.

“He’s hardly spoiled. I haven’t even told him I brought him a chocolate bar yet.”

Another roll of her eyes, though the Vet was smiling now. “I’ve got a few possibilities,” she said, indicating the clipboard she held. “Our MRI results were inconclusive. Too much going on in that brain of his, and he’s not nearly still enough. We’ve got a blur going on. I’d like to do a sleep study tonight and then sedate him for another MRI in the morning.”

“He’s not going to like that,” Hannibal mused.

“No, he isn’t,” Dr. Marx agreed, “so I hope you’ll be able to convince him.”

“I  _ do _ have that chocolate bar.”

“Have you considered having him neutered?”

Hannibal had spent many years developing a perfect bedside manner, and then a perfect poker face for his therapeutic patients, keeping any sign of emotion or judgement away from the surface. He had long ago mastered the persona of a calm, unruffled man.

He was suddenly very grateful for this fact.

“I’d read that it was only beneficial within the first few months,” he managed to say, without so much as a quirk of the lips.

“That’s ordinary cats,” the Vet said dismissively, “It works well on hybrids of any age. Keeps them more docile, reminds them who is in control.”

Hannibal was struck with a sudden, intense curiosity. Not curious enough to suffer Will’s wrath, as no matter what Dr. Marx said, Will was liable to smother Hannibal in his sleep should he even think about it, but curious about the various Hybrids who had been treated. Perhaps the ones he knew were less naturally docile than he thought.

Maybe something to test with a meal someday.

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” he told Dr. Marx.

“Don’t worry,” she assured him, “he’ll still be able to perform the way you need him to. Even with an orchidectomy, if you prefer him to be sexually responsive, he will likely still be so.”

“No, that’s alright,” Hannibal said again. Dr. Marx gave him a suspicious look.

“You aren’t planning to have him bred, are you? His genetics…”

“I have no plans for offspring.”

Dr. Marx sighed. “it’s always the men. You all get so funny about neutering. It’s not going to  _ hurt _ him. A bit of discomfort in the recovery and then he’ll be like a whole new pet.”

Hannibal didn’t want a whole new pet. This was a thought that somewhat surprised him, as Will had many habits he wasn’t particularly fond of. He supposed that was more of the ‘change’ he’d been noticing, mildly alarming, but not overly so. “No thank you,” he said firmly.

Dr. Marx stared him down. “Fine. He’s  _ your _ pet. You know, codependency is often a sign that your hybrid is too wild.”

“Thank you for your input,” Hannibal said as politely as he could manage, “I should see to Will.”

“You might want to leash him before bed,” Dr. Marx called after him. Beyond the door, Will flinched. Hannibal shut the doctor out.

“I’m not going to leash you,” Hannibal said, trying not to let his irritation bleed through, “read your book.”


	6. Chapter 6

The blur turned out to be less of a blur and more of a ‘’massive burning infection.” Encephalitis, a rarity to begin with, and practically unheard of among hybrids.

“Only because they euthanize us the second we’re inconvenient,” Will had muttered.

Will went home with a frankly appalling amount of medications and instructions. He also went against Dr. Marx’s recommendation, but there was nothing that could be done for Will in the clinic that Hannibal could not imitate at home. Even IV fluids, if necessary, were well within Hannibal’s ability to supply.

The Vet had been displeased, but she’d been displeased with just about everything Hannibal had said or done since bringing Will in, except perhaps for holding Will’s hand for the sedation. Hannibal couldn’t tell who had been more surprised by Will’s sudden grip, himself or  _ Will. _

Will disappeared into his room for the rest of the day, only appearing to swallow down a few mouthfuls of dinner and the handful of medications Hannibal offered him, before vanishing again. Later, though, when Hannibal rose in the night for a glass of water, he was there, sprawled across the other side of Hannibal’s wide bed.

He was still there in the morning, glaring at Hannibal as though daring him to say anything, and he reappeared once more when Hannibal went to bed that night. Hannibal merely raised the covers for him, and watched Will settle in.

Hannibal rescheduled the party, though he hated to disappoint, in favor of looking after Will. The medication made him weak, wobbly. He attempted to hop onto the kitchen counter one evening while Hannibal did the dishes, and missed, scattering himself and his treat bowl to the floor. He’d bolted before Hannibal could check on him and did not appear in Hannibal’s bed until Hannibal feigned sleep, creeping in on silent feet and curling up with his back pressed to Hannibal’s, sharing his warmth.

Of course, not all nights were so easy.

It was not the screaming that woke Hannibal, but the thrashing before it. He watched Will for a moment, the way his arms stretched as though fighting off an attacker, his legs kicking the blankets away. Hannibal had seen the aftermaths of Will’s nightmares, and the wandering, but he had never before been able to watch the inception. Will let out a strangled sob, and then a mew, soft and high like a kitten’s. Another mew, this one drawn out into a low, almost pleading whine.

And then the scream. Sharp and ragged, and loud enough that Hannibal startled upwards.

“Will,” he said, grabbing for Will’s shoulders. Will screamed again, his eyes open now, but unseeing, terrified.

“No!” He lashed out, scratching at Hannibal’s chest and leaving bright red lines from claws that had been sharpened and then gone too long untrimmed. Hannibal grabbed for his wrists, rolling onto Will’s hips and pinning him against the bed.

This only seemed to make things worse. Will shrieked louder, bucking and struggling beneath Hannibal, fighting him with every ounce of strength he had.

There were words, now. Mostly ‘no,’ but occasional what sounded like a garbled name. Once, ‘Master,’ which made Hannibal vaguely nauseous in a way he was trying not to examine too closely. He ignored them all, holding Will down until his cries began to soften, until he realized that Hannibal was doing no more than holding him.

“You’re safe,” Hannibal said, when Will’s mewls were quiet enough to be heard over. “It’s 4:07 AM. Your name is Will. You are in your home with Hannibal Lecter, and you are  _ safe _ .”

Will quieted for a moment, and then repeated him, his voice shaking through every word. Hannibal smiled.

“Good, Will. That’s very good.”

“Get off me,” Will growled. From his position over Will’s hips, Hannibal could feel the rumble of it through his body. He wondered if Will would purr, given the chance. If his vocal cords would vibrate and then his whole chest, if he was pleased enough.

“Are you going to strike at me again?”

Will looked as though he would very much like to answer yes, but then he took a deep breath and shook his head. Hannibal released his wrists, settling back onto the bed. Will brought his knees up to his chest, his tail wrapping around him as though it could offer him some protection.

“Don’t ask me about it,” Will said, his voice rasped from screaming. “Don’t you ever ask me what happened to me. What ‘broke’ me.”

“I don’t think you’re ‘broken,’ Will.”

Will scoffed and didn’t answer him.

“Come,” Hannibal said, rising from the bed and holding out his hand, “I’ll make some tea.”

Will looked him up and down, then took his hand.

_____

The full treatment for encephalitis would take months of medications and follow-up appointments, but the first few weeks were particularly aggressive. Will slept frequently and spoke rarely. He clambered for warm spots, rolling so close to the fire at night that Hannibal feared the fur of his tail might catch. He spent long hours on the island countertop, and even in the Pet bed Hannibal had procured and placed in closer to the window, in the hopes of saving his countertops. When Will came to him, two weeks after his diagnosis, Hannibal thought it was more of the same, a sick Cat seeking warmth and safety.

Hannibal had been reading, curled up on the sofa in the study, his book propped against the arm. He was contemplating a nap; it had been a long time since he’d spent time napping that could be better spent on other things, but Will was not the only one exhausted from his illness. Hannibal was wearing himself thin, between caring for Will and providing for his pantry, and there were few problems that could not be made a bit better by a nice nap in the middle of the day.

Will’s book had, of course, been left by his preferred chair, the one with the extra wide seat that allowed him to sprawl across it whatever way best suited him that day and still allow enough room for his tail.

Personally, Hannibal thought the day was chilly enough that Will would choose the fire instead, although he’d been known to pull a variety of blankets onto his chair to nest in as well. Once, he’d brought the entire Duvet from the guest bedroom, nothing but two eyes glaring from the folds at Hannibal when he’d attempted to disapprove.

Hannibal was just beginning to lose himself in his novel when the door creaked open. Will’s footsteps were soft on the hardwood floor, nearly silent, but Hannibal’s hearing and peripheral vision were both keener than average. He heard Will tiptoe past the chair, then past the rug. He was still completely unprepared for 170 pounds of Cat to suddenly and without warning flop into his lap.

It was not a comfortable position for Will, his neck crooked awkwardly as he rested his chin along the arm of the couch, his stomach and chest pressed to Hannibal’s thighs.

“May I help you?” Hannibal asked. Will huffed, his cheeks red.

“I’m laying here now.”

“I can see that.”

“Go back to your book.” Will shuffled around a bit, resting his chin on his own arm instead of the textured fabric of the sofa. Hannibal sighed and marked his page.

“At least allow me to give you more space.” He shifted sideways a bit, until Will could lay properly over him with his head on the sofa itself, rather than having to crane his neck at such a sharp angle. Will wriggled a bit, contemplating the new position before settling back down and closing his eyes.

“Fine, this is better.”

Hannibal held his book in one hand, his other arm draped across the back of the couch. Will was a warm weight across his thighs; a bit heavy, but not entirely unpleasant. No doubt his legs would be asleep before long, but he could tolerate it for a bit.

After a few minutes, Will scooted around slightly. Then again, a few minutes later. Then a huff.

“Will, if there’s something you wanted to ask-“

“I don’t want to ask you anything,” Will muttered into the couch cushions. Hannibal let it be.

He’d made it another two pages before Will began to wriggle again. “If you’re not comfortable…”

“If I wasn’t comfortable, I’d move,” Will growled. His tail flicked irritably before resettling around one of his thighs. Hannibal reevaluated the position. He stopped looking at it with what he knew of Will and started to compare it to what he knew of ordinary house cats. What he knew of ordinary house cats was, of course, very little, but it was enough to draw a few conclusions.

Hesitantly, Hannibal dropped his hand from the back of the sofa. He let it land gently in Will’s curls, just between the arches of his ears. It was the first time he had touched Will’s hair without scissors in his hand, his first time properly admiring the softness of the strands.

Will’s entire body tensed, the fur on his tail puffing up. For a moment, Hannibal worried he’d misinterpreted and was about to have brand new bitemarks in his wrist. Then Will’s body unclenched, sinking into the cushions and Hannibal’s lap.

In smooth, gentle motions, Hannibal ran his hand down the curve of Will’s skull and the nape of his neck, over the ridges of his spine to somewhere mid back. Then he began again. He pet in long strokes like this until Will’s breathing evened out and a low, steady rumble began somewhere against Hannibal’s thigh.

Hannibal had never heard Will purr before. Upon reflection, he’d never heard any Hybrid purr before, but the chances of Will purring for him had seemed so slim as to not be worth a second thought. His hand stilled in Will’s curls, long enough that Will roused, huffing, and nudged his head up into Hannibal’s palm.

“Alright,” Hannibal said, with a small laugh, “I understand what I’m here for.”

“Good,” Will said, and though what little of his face Hannibal could see was a bright red, he started his purr anew when Hannibal scratched at his ears.

_____

Will became more demanding over the next few weeks. He did not come to Hannibal’s lap every night, but on the nights he did, he wriggled impatiently until Hannibal freed up a hand for his curls.

“You’re feeling much better,” Hannibal said one night, when Will had joined him in bed, face down in the sheets and pressing insistently up against his side until Hannibal dropped a hand into his curls and indulged him.

“Yeah,” Will muttered suspiciously, “so?”

“You’re feeling better,” Hannibal repeated, “you haven’t had another sleepwalking incident in a few weeks, your room has been freshly vacuumed – please stop taking my pocket watch, I’ll buy you one of your own the next time I’m out- there’s no reason for you to stay.”

Will rolled away from him, looking up with narrowed eyes and bared fangs. “Are you kicking me out?”

“No, merely making an observation.”

They stared at each other, Will with a growl bubbling up, and Hannibal with the small, placid smile he’d perfected for patients. Finally, Will caved first, rolling back onto his stomach with a grumble. “It smells better in here,” he lied, shuffling his body until he had forcibly wormed his way under Hannibal’s arm. “I’m going to sleep here from now on.”

Hannibal, who had known Will’s desire for companionship already and merely wanted confirmation, indulged him with a scratch to his ears.

_____

“Are you going to throw the party now?” Will had taken to reading his books sprawled out across Hannibal’s lap, and though he had not looked up from Dante, Hannibal could feel the stiffness that seeped into his body.

“I am,” Hannibal said, giving the hard-to-reach spot between Will’s shoulder blades some extra attention, “Now that you’re doing better, I was thinking of sending out the invitations this week. Perhaps two Fridays from now?”

“Don’t know why you’re asking me,” Will muttered, back arching as Hannibal scratched his way down his spine, “You’re going to do it no matter what I say.”

“You know that’s not true,” Hannibal chided, “you’re only unpleasant because you know I’m going to ask you to attend.”

Will hid a murmur of complaint in the pages of his book. “Ask away, then.”

Hannibal raked his hand very slowly from the nape of Will’s neck, all the way down his spine, and then again, until his body was less of a rigid board in Hannibal’s lap. “Will you come to my dinner party, dear Will?”

“Yes,” Will said, unsuccessfully trying to hide a grin against the Inferno. Hannibal rewarded him with another scratch at that hard-to-reach spot, and then more gently scratches down his spine. Will hummed, pleased.

“I don’t suppose you’ll also allow me to dress you up as well?”

Will reached up, tugging lightly at the silver links of his collar. It was starting to go dull where it laid most often against his neck, and Hannibal made a mental note to have it freshly plated. Will would no doubt welcome the reprieve. “No ties,” Will declared, his tone leaving no room for argument, “No ties, no bowties, nothing else that constricts the throat. This is tight enough.”

The collar was barely tight at all, just snug enough to prevent Will from lifting it over his head instead of having it unlatched, but Hannibal knew better than to argue the point. He merely hummed his agreement, rubbing smooth circles over Will’s lower back with the pads of his fingers.

Will made a soft, pleased noise as Hannibal found a spot by the base of his spine, just a few inches above the loop of his jeans his tail protruded from. His whole body rolled into the touch, a purr building up as Hannibal rubbed at the spot. After a moment, Will lifted his hips, rising off Hannibal’s thighs to goad a bit more pressure against his lower back. Normally, he laid very, very still for petting, so Hannibal was more than happy to give him a bit more attention.

“Under the shirt?” Will mumbled, sounding dazed.

Hannibal paused, his fingers stilling. Will grumbled unhappily, nudging the arch of his back up a little bit higher, his shirt sliding forward to reveal a pale expanse of skin. Hannibal rubbed there, just slightly, and was rewarded with a louder mew and a pleasantly earthy scent that had not been there before. Hannibal was familiar with the musky aroma, of course, but it had never before been found around  _ Will _ .

“Will,” Hannibal asked cautiously, petting over his spine again, “Were you bred for pleasure?”

Will froze, stiffening up, his body jerking away from Hannibal’s touch. This had the side effect of rubbing his hips against Hannibal’s thigh and revealing the secret Hannibal had already scented. Hybrid pressure points, bred into them after much trial and error, places to make breeding easier, or to endear them to their Masters. Not every Hybrid had them, but any Hybrid whose purpose was more than basic companionship had  _ several.  _ They’d been mentioned in the care book Hannibal had read, but he’d forgotten about them, never having needed to worry about touching Will before.

Will shoved himself up off of Hannibal’s lap, with a low growl as fierce as any he’d given to the doctors. His eyes met Hannibal’s, fierce and blue and  _ angry _ , just before he smacked Hannibal full across the face, hard enough for Hannibal’s head to turn. He was gone before Hannibal could react, off the couch and through the door, his feet pounding on the stairs.

Hannibal let the shock and the bloom of heat linger for a long moment, before slowly reaching up to caress his reddened cheek. “I suppose that answers that question.”

_____

Will eventually spoke to him again, although it took several days of what could only be described as ‘moping.’ Hannibal indulged him by pretending it hadn’t happened, and by keeping his touches to the head and upper back when Will finally began sleeping in Hannibal’s bed again. His forgiveness came just in time for another trip to the tailor, the only person besides Hannibal that Will would even remotely tolerate.

Hannibal’s tailor was an elderly gentleman, with a well-loved Kitty of his own. She was older than Hannibal, the oldest Hybrid he’d ever seen, with graying hair and laugh lines on her face. As far as Hannibal could tell, she spent most of her time sleeping, and her little time awake prowling around Mr. Cancio seeking attention. She’d slept through Will’s previous meeting with Mr. Cancio, but today she was on the move, peeking curiously at Will from various corners and hiding places in the shop.

Will looked back with a mixture of open curiosity and the dismay he always wore on the rare occasion he spotted other Hybrids. It was one of the reasons Hannibal forced him out so rarely.

“No ties,” Mr. Cancio muttered, measuring around Will’s biceps, “Yes, yes, my Yvonne also, no ties, no tight-neck shirts. Freedom to breathe.” He turned to beam at Yvonne, who trilled happily and returned to her investigation of the scrap fabric basket. Will watched the exchanged with wide eyes, as Mr. Cancio and Hannibal discussed numbers in Italian.

“Don’t do that,” Will finally snapped, dropping his arm and nearly knocking Mr. Cancio’s measuring tape out of his hands. Mr. Cancio looked alarmed, as did Yvonne, who growled and stepped closer to the group. Hannibal, on the other hand, knew exactly what had happened.

“My apologies,” Hannibal said, switching smoothly back to English, “Only measurements and prices, Will, I assure you. Math is easier for Mr. Cancio in his native tongue, I would not discuss you in a language you don’t speak.”

Will flushed, his look of displeasure slightly mitigated by Hannibal’s promise. “Translate for me, then? Please?” He requested. Hannibal nodded, much to Mr. Cancio’s obvious and startling delight.

“Yes, yes, good,” Mr. Cancio said, clapping his hands loudly enough that Will’s ears and tail twitched with alarm, and he stepped back from the noise. “Happy Kitty, happy life!” He said to Hannibal, “You take care of the things that are important.” He gestured over his shoulder to Yvonne, finding her easily without bothering to look.

Will frowned and did not respond, silent for the rest of the appointment, through Hannibal’s translation of their purchase, all the way into the car.

“She didn’t speak,” he said haltingly, as they headed home.

“She speaks Italian,” Hannibal explained, “languages do not come so easily to all, human or Hybrid.”

Will glanced out the window, gnawing lightly on his lower lip. “I’ve never seen one that old. No one ever lets us last that long.”

“Mr. Cancio is very fond of Yvonne,” Hannibal said, because there was nothing else to say.

_____

For the party, Hannibal dressed them both to complement each other, though not quite matching. Both wore dark blue suits, Hannibal’s with a faint windowpane pattern. Hannibal wore his jacket buttoned up, but Will’s was left open, giving him more freedom of movement, particularly with the first button of his shirt undone. Hannibal, of course, had worn a tie, with a gold paisley overlay, and a gold pocket square, the brother to which Will had declined.

Hannibal had made a handful of hors d’oeuvres for the party, carried around by carefully dressed waiters. Will had fled the kitchen the moment the help showed up, wary of a dozen sudden strangers in his space. More than once, Hannibal had caught the flick of a tail just beyond the doorway as Will stalked the hall, keeping an eye on what his instincts told him were intruders.

Hannibal worried that Will would not be able to handle the party, and indeed, once guests started to arrive there was suddenly no sign of him. Hannibal could hear footsteps on the stairs and in the hall, and occasionally caught a glimpse of curls out of the corner of his eye, but Will did not return to the main living areas until the last of the stragglers had made their way inside.

There were nearly a dozen guests, two of whom had graciously accepted the extended invite for their Pets. Hannibal had hoped another Cat would be a relief for Will, but the new Hybrid had curled up by the fire to sleep long before Will joined the party. Hannibal almost missed him entirely.

“Such a pretty Kitty!” Dr. Phillip Kensington’s deep, loud voice was unmistakable to anyone who’d ever shared a cafeteria with him. Will’s instinctive and visceral response to such words, on the other hand, was known only to one. Hannibal was moving before he’d even spotted them, following the voices across the room in time to see Phillip’s hand come down hard on Will’s curls, ruffling them out of their carefully styled form.

Will’s teeth were bared just slightly, his fangs peeking out over his lower lip. His nose had twisted up in a snarl, but the sound didn’t come. Instead, he glanced from Hannibal back to Phillip… And smiled.

“Hannibal dressed me,” Will said, as demure as any southern debutante in a classic film. His eyelashes fluttered, his placid features doll-like in both beauty and falsity. “Do you like it?”

Phillip laughed, the loud, rumbling guffaw that had often left Hannibal feeling unnerved and in need of aspirin. “It’s very nice,” he assured Will, “Hannibal spoils you.”

“I do indeed,” Hannibal said, coming up behind Will to pull him into his side and away from Phillip’s wandering hands. “Have you seen the waiters?” He murmured in Will’s ear, “Tartare, prepared with your tastes in mind.”

“I’ll follow my nose,” Will whispered, with a pleased twitch of the feature in question. “Thank you very much for your compliment, sir,” he added to Phillip, who looked delighted to receive such attention.

“He’s a flatterer, isn’t he?” Phillip said, nudging Hannibal in the side as Will disappeared into the crowd. Hannibal watched him go, curious and longing to follow.

“Yes,” Hannibal said, “he is.”

_____

The meal was served at the long dining table. Hannibal had discussed it with Will ahead of time, offering the seat at his right hand. Will had declined, understanding the customs.

“You hate being stared at,” Will had said, and while Hannibal had expected more of a fight, Will claimed to be happy to take his meal in the study with the other Pets. Hannibal doubted this claim entirely, but Will would not be swayed. Hannibal owed him chocolates for the consideration, an entire box of them.

After the meal, the party spilled outwards once more, wine pouring freely. Dessert would come by waiter, once everyone’s dinner had settled, but in the meantime, conversation flowed again. Hannibal slipped in and out of clusters of people, admirers more than friends, just the way he liked it.

Phillip caught him by the harpsichord, rescuing him from Augustine Morton’s attempts to convince Hannibal to play. Phillip certainly saw it as a rescue, anyway. Hannibal had been looking forward to the peace brought on by keys underneath his fingertips.

“An excellent meal, as always, Hannibal,” Phillip said, loud enough to carry. Too loud, really, Hannibal would have served him up years ago at such a party, had they not been so publicly connected.

“I live to please,” Hannibal said, snagging a glass of wine from a waiter walking by. Really, one had to be at least the slightest bit tipsy to even tolerate Phillip.

“Of course you do, of course you to. But tell me, my friend,” Phillip’s voice dropped to a whisper, “where on earth did you source him from?”

Hannibal paused mid-sip, then forced himself to swallow. “I’m sorry?”

“Your Pet, your  _ Pet _ ,” Phillip said impatiently, “You’ve allowed him to get a little scruffy – although I suppose there are some who like that sort of thing – but he’s clearly well-bred. And bred for pleasure, no doubt, give him a little poke and I bet he falls right at your feet.”

Perhaps it was because Hannibal had avoided all types of animals, be they organic or cross-bred, but he had never before heard anyone be so crude about Hybrids. Certainly not in polite company. Hannibal had, of course, been aware of the sexual trend among Hybrid owners, but one would think that, like all sexual activities, it was meant to be spoken of rarely and respectfully, not blurted out in the middle of a dinner party.

But no, Phillip was staring at him expectantly, and Hannibal found himself at a loss for words, a very rare occasion in his long and full life. “He’s a rescue,” he finally said, “I’ve no idea where he was bred, and he has no memory of it.”

“Shame, shame,” Phillip said with another swig of his wine. His nose and cheeks had gone red. He’d indulged himself of Hannibal’s hospitality for far too long. “Still, I don’t suppose… Well, I’d pay handsomely for just a night. More if you’d let me borrow him for the weekend.”

Hannibal was a proud and possessive man, and had always been so, even before circumstance had ripped everything away from him in his childhood and forced him to cling to things with claw and fang. The things that belonged to Hannibal were  _ his _ , fully and completely. This was not a shock to him, nor was the bubbling heat of anger that boiled over when people overstepped their boundaries and attempted to touch what they had no right to.

He just had not, until that moment, realized that Will fell under the category of ‘his.’ Nor did he think he should ever repeat that aloud where Will could hear him.

Before Hannibal could properly respond, something nudged at his side. All of a sudden, there was Will, his shoulders tucked up underneath the curve of Hannibal’s arm, as though Hannibal had pulled him sideways into a hug. He blinked up at Hannibal with a wide smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. 

“I missed you,” Will said, nuzzling into Hannibal’s shoulder, “You’ve been neglecting me.”

“Have I?” Hannibal murmured, “I didn’t mean to.”

“You have.” There was a hint of fang in Will’s grin, not quite a threat, but enough to warn any lesser man. Hannibal reached up and carded a hand through his curls. 

“It’s not the most opportune time for pets, Will.”

“It’s  _ always _ an opportune time for pets,” Will corrected, bolder than he’d ever been in front of people. Hannibal could see the tips of his ears twitching, but he smiled as if he had no idea he was in a room crowded with strangers. 

“Perhaps later,” Hannibal told him, “When some of the guests have gone home.”

“Oh, go ahead and indulge the poor thing,” Phillip interjected. Hannibal glanced up, realizing he had neglected Phillip entirely for Will’s little show of submission.

“Yeah, Hannibal,” Will said with an uncharacteristic giggle, “Indulge me.”

Hannibal was caught between polite manners and his steadily increasing desire to escape the conversation. Phillip made the decision for him.

“I can see when I’m not wanted,” He said, hands raised, “I’ll go talk to Dr. Jameson, he’s always good for a laugh.” Phillip turned, vanishing into the crowd. Under Hannibal’s arm, Will deflated.

“I owe you,” Hannibal whispered into his curls. Will laughed.

“Yeah, you do. I thought he’d never leave. I’ll think up what I’d like as a thank-you gift.”

Hannibal hummed, releasing Will from his grasp. “In the meantime, I’m sure there’s some leftover desserts in the kitchen. One night of extra indulgence shouldn’t spoil you  _ too _ much.”

“You like me spoiled,” Will accused, with a more genuine smile than he’d worn all night. He turned on his heel, hurrying out of the room and away from the noise and crowd. It was entirely possible he’d eat himself sick, and Hannibal would never find it in himself to lecture him.

_____ 

Later on, Hannibal headed for the fireplace, checking in on Will. The other Cat had shifted his sleeping position, claiming Will’s favorite chair for himself, and had returned to sleep. Will, on the other hand, was curled up on the sofa with a lap full of short, spiky hair and tiny ears that flicked towards every sound. The Dog had found him, and was quite pleased to have done so, going by the frantically wagging tail that thunked against the cushions. Will was cooing at him, scratching behind his ears while the Dog pressed his face into Will’s belly, leaving traces of fur all over the suit.

“You’ve made a friend,” Hannibal said.

Will looked up at him, beaming. The Dog gave Hannibal a curious look, and then returned his gleeful gaze to Will and his attentive hands. “This is Buster,” Will explained, “Buster, say hi to Hannibal.”

“Hi, Hannibal!” Buster was a slip of a thing, either youthful or bred small, Hannibal could not be certain. His voice had a certain high quality to it that reminded Hannibal of particularly tiny dogs.

“Hello, Buster.”

“Buster’s a good boy, aren’t you, Buster?” Will followed up the praise with a happy flick of his tail and a belly rub for the Dog, who nearly vibrated in his excitement.

“A good boy!” Buster agreed.

“He seems so,” Hannibal agreed. “Will, I’d come to offer you an escape, if you needed it. The party will be wrapping up soon, and I don’t expect you to offer goodbyes.”

Will shrugged. “I’m fine here,” he said, “but I’ll probably head upstairs when Buster leaves, if that’s alright.”

“More than,” Hannibal said, and left them to it with only a single curious glance over his shoulder.

_____ 

“Aren’t Cats meant to dislike Dogs?”

They were getting ready for bed, the party long over. Will looked far more tired than Hannibal felt, having gotten far less daytime sleep than he was used to.

“That’s old cartoon logic. Even ordinary cats and dogs get along all the time, why would Hybrids be any different? Besides, Dogs are trusting. They like everybody.” A small smile spread on Will’s face. “It’s hard not to be drawn in by that. Even the dogs that are wary of you, once they grow to trust you, they love you like no one else does. I always wanted a dog, the ordinary kind. The last place had one, but they never liked me doting on him.”

“A Pet with a pet,” Hannibal mused. Will rolled his eyes.

“It’s different,” he said, “It’s different and you know it. Hybrids think like people, if you give them the chance to learn like people. Ordinary animals don’t. They need care in a way that’s not necessary for Hybrids. My first home had a dog, too,” he added.

“The home you were born in?”

Will’s face closed off. He turned away from Hannibal, and for a long moment, he was silent. Then – “Are you aware of Ferals? Do they talk about that in your fancy circles?”

“Homeless Hybrids,” Hannibal said, “Hybrids who have been left to the streets when their owners discard them, rather than returned to a Hybrid Shelter. Hybrids like you, when you came into my home.”

“No,” Will said, shaking his head, “Any Hybrid can survive on the streets and dodge cops for a week or two. Ferals are the ones who make a life out of it, the ones who can evade for years. The ones who know that they are no longer adoptable.”

“I’ve heard,” Hannibal said softly, “there aren’t very many of them. Not many places to hide from human contact, especially when you need to gather supplies.”

“Hybrids don’t generally know how to care for themselves,” Will agreed. “The general estimate is less than a hundred at any given time. Especially now that there are harsher fines for Hybrid abandonment. But the fine was a lot smaller when I was born. I didn’t go to my first home until I was 8 years old. I was considered young enough to be rehabilitated. My father wasn’t.” Will turned back to Hannibal, his eyes stormy and damp. Hannibal took his glare without complaint, well aware of the magnitude of what Will was telling him.

“The first home, with the dog,” Hannibal prompted gently. Will laughed, bitter and sorrowful.

“If I’d always been this sharp, they would have recalled me years ago,” Will said. “They weren’t all terrible homes. That came later. When I was older.”  _ Sexually mature _ , he didn’t say, but he did not have to. He and Hannibal both knew the implication. “My first home, I almost didn’t miss him. He wasn’t a very good father, you see. We rarely get to raise our young.” Puppies and Kittens were cute, and almost as easily adopted as Pets in their late teens, especially by childless couples. People who wanted practice before they started with the real thing. Only the most easily trained would be bred, only the most obedient adopted out. Will was a sharp anomaly, no doubt the spitting image of his father.

“They had a dog,” Will recalled wistfully, “And I was a Pet, no doubt about it. Bed and crate by the dog’s, food set out in the mud room. But they were… kind. Fond of me, almost as fond as they were of their own children. Their kids were in high school, and they weren’t ready for the empty nest. I learned to mew and purr and bat at feathers on strings. So long as I made them laugh, so long as I played the same roll I’d learned from the others in the shelter, they were pleased. It seems like it comes naturally to every other Hybrid I’ve met. Some of them don’t even speak, raised to silence by their owners, and it’s like they don’t even  _ care.  _ My dad spent 7 years in the Louisiana swamps telling me horror stories about his upbringing, and I learned to wear those stories like a costume, and it was almost,  _ almost _ okay.”

Hannibal reached for Will. Not for his hair, his ears. Not to pet him like a Hybrid. He reached for his shoulder, the way he would comfort any colleague, any friend who sought comfort. Will leaned into the touch and sighed. “Empty nest syndrome,” Will repeated, “And when they were ready to move on, I moved on too. I was twelve then. Too old to be a replacement child, not old enough yet to be desirable. And I’ve always looked younger than my age. A blessing for an older Hybrid, but when you’re young, it attracts the wrong sort of people. I went into the Shelter Systems for 3 years, and when I came out…”

A string of homes, of owners wanting and grasping and returning Will when they were done. When he bored them, perhaps, or when he could no longer live with himself for playing the good boy. Hannibal’s hand tightened on Will’s shoulder.

Hannibal did not feel guilt, or shame. Human empathy was beyond him, and willfully so; he had no desire to feel the sorrows others felt. Hannibal was immune to pity, and only rarely bothered with concern.

Affection, though, he had in spades, rusty as it was. Affection was a tool he had put away in his youth, showing the scarcest glimpses of it only to those associates who bothered him the least. True affection was reserved for Mischa, for Chiyoh, for Murasaki. And now for Will.

Will made a sound, a choked, strangled whine, half the distressed yowl of a cat, half the tortured sob of a man. Hannibal pulled him in, his arms tight around him, the closest he had ever dared to hold Will. Will sank into it like a man starved, and perhaps he was. Perhaps he had been only a child, the last time he had felt a true affection, the kind without conditions or requirements. The kind that did not sink fangs into your skin and tear holes into your being.

Will cried, and Hannibal held him, and the world did not end, but it felt somehow different, all the same.


	7. Chapter 7

Will’s attachment increased. What was worse, was that Hannibal could not seem to make himself mind. On the nights that Will was late to join him in the study, Hannibal felt cold, even lonely. Loneliness was a feeling he had not bothered with in many years, since his youth, even. There was no point to loneliness when you were a creature of solitude. 

He was no longer a creature of solitude, though. He sought out Will’s companionship, his conversation, his contact. Will was a spark of life in days that Hannibal suddenly realized had been empty. 

Will seemed to be feeling the same. Hannibal came home at one point to Will frantic in the entryway, staring him down with an icy glare.

“You were gone  _ forever _ ,” Will growled, storming up to Hannibal before he’d even managed to remove his coat. “I thought you weren’t coming back.”

Hannibal hesitated with his hands still on his lapels. “I went to work…” he said slowly. 

“No.” Will shook his head, yanking Hannibal’s coat from his shoulder. He hung it up with rougher motions than Hannibal would have liked, turning on Hannibal with his fangs bared. “You go to work all the time. I know when you get home from work. You should have been home at 4:30.”

It was nearly 5:20, admittedly late, but Will was often asleep when Hannibal returned. He had not thought anything of it. “I’m sorry, Will, one of my patients had an emergency.”

Will turned away from him with a huff. “I thought you weren’t coming back,” he repeated, “you were  _ late _ . Very rude, Hannibal.”

Hannibal found himself smiling as he removed his shoes. “I’ll be sure to call next time. Is there a way I can make it up to you?”

“I want pancakes.”

“Of course you do.”

_____

“Hannibal.” Hannibal woke, one morning, just before dawn, Will heavy across his chest, his body vibrating with a loud purr. When Hannibal opened his eyes, Will was looking at him through heavily lidded eyes.

Will’s affection came freely now, easily. Hannibal wrapped an arm around him, petting at his back until Will grinned and trilled happily. 

“It’s a bit early to be demanding attention, don’t you think?”

Will hummed thoughtfully, then shook his head. “You’re better in the morning. Less guarded.”

Hannibal raised an eyebrow. “You’re trying to catch me at my weakest?”

“Yes,” Will said simply. He looked nervous, suddenly. Uncertain. When Hannibal tried to nudge him off and straighten up, he only clung tighter.

“Will, if something is bothering-”

Will kissed him, mid-sentence, his lips soft against Hannibal’s own. He tasted of mint, which meant he’d risen at some point to brush his teeth, to prepare. Will’s fangs dug into Hannibal’s lower lip, as gently as possible, trying to coax his mouth open. And Hannibal wanted to let him. He wanted to roll over and cover Will’s body with his own, spread Will wide and make a place for himself. He wanted to carve into Will until he could see his insides, spread his hands in that warm, wet place and forever be a part of Will. 

Most of all, Hannibal wanted Will to stay. To be happy, here. To talk about crime scenes by the fire, to pick all the decorative herbs off his plate, to hide snacks around the house until Hannibal gave in and refilled the bowl with more chocolate. To read through Hannibal’s carefully cited articles and pick apart his arguments one by one, with knowledge he’d taught  _ himself _ . Will’s brilliance was unmistakable, irreplaceable. Hannibal pushed him away.

“No.”

Will frowned down at him. “What do you mean,  _ no?” _

“We’re not doing this, Will. That’s not a condition of your stay here.”

“I know it’s not,” Will said, sitting up and shoving his hair out of his eyes, “I wouldn’t have started sleeping here if it was.”

Hannibal surged onward, regardless. “This is not like your other homes. There’s nothing you have to do here to earn your place.”

Will rolled off of him, his eyes hard. “You can’t tell me you don’t want me. I see the way you look at me. I know what men’s eyes look like when they want me. You whisper my name in your sleep and reach for me as I walk by, and I’m not meant to notice?”

Hannibal’s chest ached. He pulled himself out of bed, reaching for his robe. “I’ve told you all along, Will. You never have to do anything you don’t want.”

“I want this,” Will hissed, “I want  _ you _ .”

“No, you don’t.” It was simple, and so obvious that Hannibal had never doubted it. “You have spent months waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for me to demand something of you that you had no desire to give. You still think you have to earn your home.”

“Don’t tell me what I think!” Will growled, shoving himself out of the bed hard enough that the bedside lamp rattled on the end table. “Don’t you dare try to tell me what I’m  _ feeling _ , what goes on in my head!”

“This is exactly what I mean,” Hannibal said, turning to stare him down. Will did not falter, his glare steady and fierce. “Like it or not, Will, I am in a position of power over you. I am the only thing keeping you from an early grave. You seek to appease me, to keep yourself in my good graces for fear that I will cast you out.”

Will’s gaze flicked away from him. His tail was twitching, puffed up the way it usually got just before Will scratched at someone. “This is why nobody fucks psychiatrists,” he muttered. He shoved past Hannibal, storming down the hall. Hannibal heard the door to the guest room slam shut. He did not see Will again for several days.

_____

Will was still not speaking to Hannibal when Jack Crawford came to call. He came to his office, after all Hannibal’s patients had left, and just barely avoided missing Hannibal entirely. 

“What brings the FBI to my office?” Hannibal asked, tidying away his desk. His scalpel was still out from an earlier attempt at a landscape drawing. He found he had less and less time to do so, these days, unable to separate himself from Will’s company long enough to lay out the large sheets he preferred to work with. His personal sketchbook, on the other hand, was running out of pages that didn’t feature pointed ears and a curved tail. 

“Alana Bloom recommended you,” Jack said, “We were looking for someone to help us build a profile.”

Hannibal ran his fingers over the sharp point of the scalpel, careful not to cut. “A profile? For who?”

“The Chesapeake Ripper.” 

Hannibal smiled. He tucked the scalpel away in his drawer, reaching for his bag. “I’m afraid I have to get home,” he said, “I have a Cat to feed, and he gets very unhappy with me if I’m late. Would you like to come for dinner?”

Jack laughed. “Well, I’ve never turned down a free meal, and that was the  _ other _ part of the recommendation Dr. Bloom gave. ‘If he offers you food, Jack, you have to take it.’”

Hannibal held the door open for Jack gesturing him out the door. “Well, we wouldn’t want to disappoint Dr. Bloom.   
_____

Will was waiting by the door when Hannibal returned, an irritated but resigned look on his face. Hannibal might almost have been forgiven, had Jack Crawford not entered the house immediately after him. Will’s ears flattened back and he bared his fangs, shooting Hannibal a betrayed look. Hannibal typically warned him before forcing social interaction on him; he would have to look into getting Will a cell phone. If nothing else, Will would enjoy having easy access to his news app without needing to borrow the tablet. 

“Will,” Hannibal said, as if he could not see the angry puff of Will’s tail and the ominous flicking motion, “this is Agent Jack Crawford, of the FBI.”

Will’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, honing in on Jack. Jack, for his part, seemed entirely charmed by Will, as most people were at first. 

“Well, Dr. Lecter. When you mentioned having a Cat at home, I didn’t expect such a pretty Kitty.”

Will did not roll his eyes. Hannibal was proud of him. “Yes, Will is quite handsome. And quite hungry, no doubt. Did you remember to set the meat out to rest?”

_ Now _ Will rolled his eyes. “I can follow basic instructions,” he reminded Hannibal, “how long have I been helping you cook?”

“Not long enough to stop being sneaky with the cilantro,” Hannibal replied. He took Jack’s coat, hanging it up and leading the way to his kitchen.

“It tastes like soap,” Will complained, trailing after them. He left a few feet between himself and Jack, clearly uncertain whether Jack would attempt to pet him or not. 

“My wife would say the same,” Jack agreed with a small smile.

“Many people have a genetic disposition to more strongly taste the soap-flavored aldehydes in cilantro,” Hannibal explained, opening one of the bottles of wine he’d selected earlier, “that does not explain why you keep removing it from  _ my _ portion.”

“Can smell it on your breath,” Will muttered, quiet enough that Hannibal almost missed it. Hannibal sighed, handing a glass of wine to Jack, who took it gratefully. 

“Let it breathe,” he suggested, turning to Will. Will was eyeing the wine himself, but he could stand to help Hannibal a bit longer, if he was going to be difficult. “Will, would you mind selecting some thyme and mint from the herb garden?”

Will perked up a bit. Mint was one of his favorite herbs, and Hannibal had no doubt he’d steal a few leaves to gnaw on while they cooked. He disappeared into the dining room, leaving Hannibal alone with Jack once more.

“He’s a sassy thing,” Jack said goodnaturedly, “Reminds my of my wife.”

“Will’s independent nature is one of his best characteristics.”

“Been thinking about getting a Hybrid Kitten for my wife. We never found the time to have kids, and she could use something cute and sweet to keep her company when I… when I can’t.”

There was something shuttered in Jack’s words, something dark and unsaid. The wife was ill, then, or Jack suspected she was. Hannibal added a little extra salt to his rub. 

“Loneliness can be a crippling thing,” Hannibal mused. Jack cleared his throat. 

“Yes. Yes it can. Would you recommend a Kitten, then?”

Hannibal thought about the pleasure Will had brought to his stagnant life, about the joy a small child could bring to a dying woman. Then he thought about what might happen to the Kitten once Mrs. Crawford was no longer around to care for it, and about the look on Will’s face when he realized Hannibal was encouraging someone to participate in the buying and selling of young Hybrids.

Hannibal did not feel guilt or shame, but there was something to be said for practicality. He shook his head. “Will came to me in adulthood, so I have little experience with Kittens. I do know that Hybrids can be a handful, especially when young. And Will, in particular, is a fiercely independent creature. A Kitten may not offer the company you seek for your wife.”

Jack sighed. “I guess you’re right. I’m just looking for easy solutions where there aren’t any.”

“Perhaps an ordinary cat?” Hannibal suggested lightly, “Something older, with a set, docile personality. Something small enough for your wife to pick up and carry, if need be.”

“Maybe,” Jack said, but he did not look as enthused as he had earlier. He looked like a broken man. The slight twinge of trepidation Hannibal had felt in his office was gone. He had little to fear from a man whose mind was not on his work. 

Will returned shortly with the herbs. His breath smelled tellingly of mint, and Hannibal was certain he had a few more leaves tucked into his pocket. He’d considered growing catmint, but Will seemed perfectly satisfied with the ordinary variation. “Would you like to help?” Hannibal asked him.

Will looked from Hannibal to Jack. He’d shown some aptitude for cooking, his nose able to pair flavors together almost as well as Hannibal himself, but his newfound pleasure in the skill was not enough to overcome his detestation of strangers. “No,” Will declared, stalking from the room without a backwards glance. Hannibal sighed.

“Willful,” he said to Jack with a shrug. Jack laughed quietly. 

“Do you ever feel like you’re married?” Jack asked, taking another deep sip of his wine.

“All the time.”

_____

Will graced them with his presence again for dinner. He took his usual seat at Hannibal’s right hand with a dirty look towards Hannibal, as if he expected to be shooed in favor of their guest. If Jack found it odd that a Pet was given preferential seating, he made no note of it. 

“So, Jack, tell me more about the case you’d like me to profile.”

Jack took another bite of his meal, making the same pleased noise he’d made when he first saw it. “Seems a waste to sully such a good meal with such a vulgar conversation.”

“Hannibal has a particular talent for compartmentalization when it comes to food,” Will murmured. He had yet to take more than a single bite, instead pushing his sides around morosely, as though Hannibal had personally wronged him with his uninvited guest. 

“If only we were all so lucky,” Jack agreed. He sipped deeply at his wine, though the warm flush of alcohol had already settled over his face. “The Chesapeake Ripper. Kills in sets of three, and the first two have already dropped.”

Will’s fork hit his plate with an obscenely loud clatter. Both men turned to stare at him. 

“The Narcissus killer?”

Hannibal leaned back in his seat, eyeing the rest of the table with a pleased curiosity. Jack frowned.

“Yes,” Jack said, in a slow, hesitant voice. He glanced towards Hannibal, clearly wondering if he would be interrupted. “He’s killed again since then, though.”

“And before,” Will agreed, “the Wound Man, most famously, but always in sounders of three.”

“Sounders,” Jack mused, “that’s an interesting word for it.”

“A grouping of swine,” Will said, “these victims are animals to him. No more human than the racoon that scrounges through your trash at night.”

Jack opened his mouth to speak, and then seemed to remember who he was talking to. His eyes flicked guiltily from Will’s ears - perked up in eager attention - to Hannibal, who offered him a small, reassuring smile.

“There is little I would keep from Will, should he gain entertainment or education from it. He likes to read the local news.”

“I’ve never met a Hybrid who could read,” Jack said.

“Well, now you have,” Will said stiffly, jabbing his fork at a carrot. Hannibal could see him resisting the urge to start in on Jack about what Hybrids were capable of if properly taught. Hannibal did not disagree, but would reward his restraint later. He had no way of knowing just how important the right impression was with Jack Crawford. 

“You’ve got a bright one on your hands,” Jack said to Hannibal, and his tone seemed to imply both warning and amusement, “evening conversation must be fun around here.”

“Delightful,” Will mumbled, “Hannibal, may I be excused?”

Will had never asked before. Intrigued by his sudden surge of deceptive obedience, Hannibal nodded. Will cleared his plate - still entirely full, Hannibal would have to check on him later - and vanished from the room.

“My apologies,” Hannibal said to Jack, “Will is a delightful creature, and brilliant, but he dislikes spending lengthy amounts of time with strangers.”

“Don’t we all?” Jack said with a laugh, “I don’t blame you for your Pet. Animals are fickle creatures, and he seemed polite as could be to me. Besides, now you and I can speak unencumbered. I’d really like it if you could join us in the lab, perhaps even at the scene, should another body drop.”

Hannibal smiled. “I’d be happy to help, Jack.

______

“You didn’t eat dinner tonight.” 

Will looked up from his book with a tight frown, a furrow of lines across his forehead. He looked vaguely pained, like he had during the worst of the encephalitis. “I wasn’t hungry,” he said, with a shrug of one shoulder. 

Hannibal sighed, settling into his chair across from Will. “You’re still in recovery,” he pointed out.

“And you aren’t my father,” Will spat back. They stared at each other for a moment, an uneasy silence. “You brought a guest in without telling me,” Will finally said.

“My apologies. He surprised me at work. I did not have time to call.”

Will bit down on his lower lip, glancing down at his book. It didn’t provide distraction for long. “The Chesapeake Ripper is dangerous,” he murmured. 

“He is,” Hannibal agreed. 

“This is the most dangerous, most wanted serial killer in Baltimore right now, and  _ you _ are getting involved with the FBI investigation.”

“As a psychologist, I am highly qualified to create a profile that may help them catch him.”

Will glowered, then slammed his book shut. “You’re painting a goddamn target on your back,” he said, turning his back on Hannibal and leaving him alone in the room.

_____

Will did not look any less uncomfortable in the coming weeks, although he returned to Hannibal’s bed and his lap, insistently and wordlessly demanding pets until Hannibal gave in. Hannibal learned that, much like any ordinary cat, Will enjoyed light scratches behind his ears and around the scruff of his jaw, and unlike a cat, would accept light rubs on his stomach, provided Hannibal moved slowly and gave him ample time to notice. 

Jack Crawford was an interesting man. Determined and fierce, though quick to irritation in a way that Hannibal found decidedly unpleasant. He grew easily frustrated with the lack of leads his team had, though he seemed to have decided Hannibal was a wonderful addition. Hannibal withheld a third ripper killing, but gleefully dropped a body in a completely dissimilar pattern, just to watch the FBI run about like mad men. 

His new hobby came at the cost of Will’s easy affection. “You’re never home anymore!” He complained over dinner one night. He’d hardly touched it, though Hannibal had given him a generous portion of liver, undercooked, the way Will liked it best. 

“I come home every single night. You’re awake. We talk, like we always do.” To Hannibal, it felt a bit like arguing with a child, right down to the surly expression on Will’s face. It was not a way he was accustomed to thinking of Will, who had become more of a particularly intimate roommate than a Hybrid Pet. 

“You spend all your time around corpses,” Will protested, “off poking and prodding at bodies. Freddie Lounds wrote about you.” The look of disgust on his face told Hannibal  _ exactly _ how Will felt about that. 

“I thought you liked Freddie Lounds.”

“The things I like about Tattlecrime are her worst personality traits. She’s invasive, she creeps around places she doesn’t belong, but that means she gets excellent pictures to go with her articles. Her writing is trash, though. She misses the point half the time, and that’s not getting into what she said about  _ you _ .”

“I know what she said about me,” Hannibal assured him. It had been particularly xenophobic, questioning a background that was not readily available to the public eye. But she would grow bored eventually, when he didn’t respond. Vicious little creatures like her always did. 

“Then you’ll understand my hatred of her.”

“So eager to defend me, Will?”

The look Will gave him was pure bitter disgust. He shoved his plate away and stood, hands clenched and tail twitching. “If you have to ask that, after months… After  _ everything _ …”

Hannibal was a cool, collected man. Will was not. His body was made up of twitches and ticks, puffed up fur from irritation, the flick of eyes across Hannibal’s skin when he wanted to stare him down. He could be graceful or rigid, depending on his mood, but the second time Will kissed Hannibal was just as shocking as the first.

Will crowded Hannibal in his seat, crawling over him and nearly knocking over the dining chair, not built to hold the weight of two grown men. “After all this time,” Will murmured, nipping at Hannibal’s lower lip, “Can you really think…”

Hannibal slid a hand between them, the pads of his fingers pressed to Will’s mouth. Will growled, low and rumbling in his chest. “No, Will,” Hannibal said firmly.

“You want me,” Will hissed, “I can  _ smell _ it on you, when you look at me. You want to know what I feel like, on the inside.”

And Hannibal did. Will was beautiful in a classic way, the rough lines of a sketch not yet painted over by a Renaissance master. Hannibal had his hands in Will’s hair often enough to have memorized the curve of each curl. He had learned the ways to spark Will’s joy, his intrigue. He had listened to Will speak for hours on subjects that had never before mattered.

“No,” Hannibal repeated, pulling himself to his feet, until Will had no choice but to drop from his lap and support his own weight. “Will. I will not be the latest in a long line of monsters beneath your bed.”

Will watched him with narrowed eyes, his chest rising and falling with the quick breaths of outrage. “No,” Will agreed, “instead, you will be the latest in a long line of men who make my decisions for me.”

He spun on his heel and fled the room. Hannibal did not see him for the rest of the week.

_____

“The problem with the Chesapeake Ripper,” Jack said, over a body that was Hannibal’s but did not fit the pattern, “is that we never know  _ when _ his next body will drop, beyond the very vague ‘soon.’ And every victim is different. Different age, different race, different sex. He does not care about class or ethnicity. We have  _ no idea _ how he chooses his victims.”

And they never would. A lack of manners was hardly something that would show up on a census. 

“And so every new body requires your intense scrutiny,” Hannibal surmised, “particularly when they have been… mutilated.”

Hannibal had been less cautious with this body. He had ripped it to shreds, with none of the surgical precision the Ripper was known for. He hadn’t even taken his prize, had left every organ where it had grown, though a little worse for the wear.

“It lacks precision,” called Jimmy Price from across the room, “no neat, precise surgical cuts.”

“No trophies,” added Brian Zeller, barely looking up from the notes he’d been perusing. 

Hannibal turned to Jack, one eyebrow raised. Jack sighed, his hands in his pockets. His gaze did not move from the body. 

“I’m told that I’m obsessive,” Jack said quietly, “that my determination to solve this case has restricted my ability to see it.”

Hannibal wondered if it was Jack’s coworkers who had said so, or his wife. How much had he neglected his life in favor of chasing Hannibal? Or chasing his own tail, as the case may have been, for Hannibal had never been further from his reach. 

“I’m afraid I’ve called you out here for nothing, Dr. Lecter.”

“Of course not, Jack. Your dedication to your job is admirable. And I am always happy to offer my help.”

Jack looked from Hannibal back to the body, his brow furrowed, lost to his thoughts. Hannibal had consumed dozens in his time, but there was nothing quite like this, this psychological consumption. To be at the forefront of someone’s every thought. It was intoxicating.

_____ 

Will wandered the outskirts of Hannibal’s vision for days, always just out of sight, always fleeing any room Hannibal entered. It felt almost as if Hannibal had broken something irreparable, had shattered a fragile peace that could not be fixed.

“What is it you want with me?”

Will returned to him late in the night, framed in the doorway by the hall lights. Hannibal straightened up in bed, shifting to make room in Will’s usual spot. 

“ _ For _ you,” Hannibal said, as Will crawled into place, “not with.”

“And that would be?” Will’s eyes had always held a shifting quality to them, but now they were the blue-grey of a storm, intense and consuming. Hannibal sighed.

“You are not a Pet,” he admitted, “I am not certain you ever have been, regardless of the intent of your maker.”

“I’ve told you that from the beginning,” Will pointed out.

“And I attempted to listen,” Hannibal agreed, “though I doubt I was always successful. I laid out bowls of treats for you, baskets of feathered toys. This…” He reached out for Will’s throat. Rather than flinch away, Will tilted his head back, baring the smooth skin. Hannibal’s fingers traced over the thin chain of Will’s collar.

“A legal requirement, you said. And the first two were appeals to my instincts. I am not a Pet, Hannibal, but I am still what I am. What do you want for me?”

“Humanity,” Hannibal whispered, a thought that had stuck in his throat so many times before. Something he had shut down, had tried not to focus on. It was easier to imagine Will as some beautiful creature, animal and strange. Easier to avoid the truth of it. “You are a man, Will, and you deserve the freedom of any other man. A freedom I cannot offer you.”

“You offered me the freedom of my life,” Will said, “and of choice. Every choice you could give over to me, you have. Where liberties could be taken, you dodged, avoided. Do you know how old I was, the last time I bowed willingly beneath a hand in my curls?” He smiled, then, all fang, bitter and bold. He was unerringly beautiful, with a ferocity that Hannibal admired. A viciousness he could relate to. Will’s eyes reflected him, only pieces, none of the core of Hannibal’s darkness, but still. 

“I can’t offer you the choice you desire, Will. If it were to sour, go wrong…”

“Then it would end,” Will said, firm, as though it was that simple, “and we would return to this.”

Or Hannibal would kill him, rip his heart from his chest and eat it in thin, greedy strips. His own heart was pounding. 

“Do you like me, Hannibal?”

“I do,” Hannibal said, “despite myself. Your intelligence outstrips the acquaintances I surround myself with. You see things others don’t.”

Will flushed with pleasure at the praise, tilting his head to look up at Hannibal in a way that ached. “And do you want me?”

“More than I should.”

“No.” Will shook his head. “Not enough. Not if you won’t give this to yourself.”

“I don’t want to take-”

“You can’t take advantage. You can only take your gift.” Will looked at him, so very certain. When he moved forward, he was slow, cautious. His lips brushed Hannibal’s in a soft caress, the slightest touch. Someone made a noise, eager. Hannibal hoped it hadn’t been him. In a sudden rush, Will lunged at him, pressing him back into the bed, licking into his mouth, and Hannibal did not bother to resist. 

Hannibal had a moment of relief that Will’s tongue was not rough, as an ordinary cat’s would have been, and then there was no time to consider anything at all. Will rolled them over, pulling Hannibal on top of him with an easy and fluid grace. “Touch me,” he demanded, and Hannibal was finding it difficult to ever deny this beautiful creature anything he wanted.

Will’s body moved in unnatural ways. Hannibal gripped his hips and he arched and twisted, let Hannibal get both hands under him to massage the pressure point over his spine. Will threw his head back with a pleased mewl, grinding up against Hannibal. Hannibal could feel him, hard and hot through four layers of clothing, and there was the second moment of relief that there was more man than cat to Will.

For a moment, they stayed in that intimate pose, Will curving off the bed, Hannibal with fingers set on either side of his spine. Then, Will remembered himself, surging up to nip at Hannibal’s mouth with his pointed teeth.

“Naked,” Will demanded. He was already halfway there, sleeping in nothing more than boxers and sleep pants. Will always seemed to run a few degrees warmer than most, even without fur. Hannibal, however, had an entire matching pajama set to strip out of. He lost the shirt immediately, pulling Will up against him. Will’s body was relatively hairless, despite his nature, only small patches of hair. It was Hannibal who was the hirsute one, and Will immediately twined his fingers through the thatch of greying hair and tugged. “I like this,” Will decided, with another gentle pull. “Show me the rest?”

Instead, Hannibal guided him back down onto the bed, flat this time. He kissed his way down the smooth chest, detouring to the left to suck gently at a nipple, and then a little harder when the motion drew another mewl from Will’s throat. “That’s not naked,” Will said, gasping when Hannibal dragged his teeth along the sensitive bud as he pulled off.

“My apologies,” Hannibal murmured, continuing his way down the soft skin of Will’s stomach. Will had his hips tilted up slightly to accommodate for his tail. It made Hannibal’s task easier. He peeled Will’s sweatpants and boxers away, careful not to trap his tail in the fabric. The appendage flicked over his neck, almost playful. Hannibal knew Will had some limited control over it, and he took the gesture for the coaxing it was, tossing Will’s clothing aside and pressing a kiss to the curve of his thigh.

“There are better places for your mouth,” Will whispered, his words bold but his face reddened by shyness. Hannibal smiled up at him, bare now but for the thin chain of his collar. Hannibal suddenly wanted to rip it off. He hid that desire in a smile and a nip of teeth to Will’s thigh.

“There are,” Hannibal agreed, “but you requested ‘naked,’ if I recall, and we aren’t quite there yet.”

Will drew his leg up, pushing at the waistband of Hannibal’s pants with his toes. “You can fix that, you know.” He grinned, full and open and honest, and Hannibal had to kiss him.

Will was an excellent kisser. There were likely reasons for that, reasons which Hannibal was trying not to think about. It was quite easy, actually, with Will licking into his mouth as he’d so clearly wanted to for weeks. Hannibal kicked his sleep pants and underwear to the floor and pressed down, his bare body against Will’s.

Will made a quiet sound of pain.

“What is it?” Hannibal shoved back, straightening up as Will arched his back again. “Your tail?”

Will nodded sheepishly. Hannibal soothed him with a kiss to his flushed cheek.

“I’ll just have to be more cautious,” he said, taking Will’s hips in his hands once more.

There were many things Hannibal wanted to do to Will,  _ with _ Will, and yet it seemed like there was so little time. He wanted to explore the coarse, dark hair of his thighs and see if it more closely resembled fur or Hannibal’s own. He wanted to count the knobs of his spine with his tongue, all the way down until he saw exactly where that troublesome tail began. He wanted to watch Will ride him in the bright, orange light of early morning.

He wanted to see Will’s chest rise and fall beneath a spatter of blood, blood so thick and red that it stained Will’s teeth pink when he licked it from Hannibal’s fingers.

Some of these things, Hannibal would have, and some he wouldn’t. For now, he settled for a taste, a deep breath with his nose buried in a thatch of soft curls, and then a long lick up to the tip of Will’s cock. Will was uncircumcised, his skin rosy, flushed with blood. Hannibal mouthed at the head, easing the foreskin back with his lips while Will whimpered and trembled beneath his hands. Perhaps there had been generous lovers, owners who saw their mastery of Will as more partnership between the sheets. Or perhaps they had all been selfish, and no one had ever taken the proper, tender care with Will that he deserved. Either way, Hannibal planned to take his time. He sucked gently at the tip of Will’s cock, tonguing at the slit, before he worked his way down in slow, steady swallows, holding Will up from the bed and otherwise allowing him to roll his hips as he liked.

Hannibal had pleased lovers before, welcomed them long and deep and swallowed them whole. Will was gentle, despite Hannibal’s insistent hands. Each thrust was cautious, little rocks of his hips accompanied by slowly escalating moans. Hannibal longed to see him unburdened by restraint, eager to take, but caution was etched in every tense line of his body. Hannibal pulled off, letting Will slide wetly from his mouth.

“Can I-“ he asked, and Will nodded before he even finished.

“You can have anything you want.” Will’s blush, as it turned out, trailed all the way down his throat blooming on his chest. Hannibal traced a line of freckles across Will’s shoulder with his tongue.

“Don’t promise me that,” Hannibal said, “you don’t need to offer it, not to me.”

“I know,” Will whispered, pulling Hannibal up for a kiss, “That’s why you can have it.”

Hannibal felt unfathomably warm as he reached for the bedside table. He knew what he wanted, and Will only nodded when he saw the little bottle. “How do you like it?” Hannibal asked.

Will shifted beneath him, until he could roll onto his hands and knees. It got his tail out of the way at last, no risk that a wayward thrust would pin it between Will’s body and the bed. Hannibal trailed his hand down Will’s back, right over the spot that made Will whine and curve his body deeper, ass up, chest against the bed.

It took his face away from Hannibal, but there would be time. There would be plenty of other times for him to work out new positions and angles, ways to look into blue eyes blown wide with pleasure. Tonight, he wanted Will to feel comfortable. He wanted Will to feel nothing but Hannibal, no stress, no fear.

There was a tremor in Will’s thighs as Hannibal slid two slick fingers between his cheeks, rubbing gently over his entrance in slow, teasing motions, until Will’s shoulders relaxed and he hid a whimper in the pillow. “There we go,” Hannibal praised, easing Will’s thighs wider apart with one hand, “relax for me, sweet Will.”

Will huffed out a laugh, half-choked by the noise he made as Hannibal’s fingers slid into him, slow but steady, until he had no more to give. Will shook, hands clenched into fists.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Hannibal promised, drawing slowly back out and adding more lube before he pushed in again.

“I know that,” Will gasped, “I know that, just… Just keep moving. Don’t stop. Don’t give me time to…”

To worry, to panic. To wonder if perhaps Hannibal was going to be like every other person who’d fucked him, rough and uncaring. Hannibal pressed kisses to the pressure point above his tail, sucking a mark over it as he curled his fingers. Will squirmed and whined beneath him, working his hips slowly back against the hand that speared him open.

“Hannibal!” Will’s voice caught in his throat, Hannibal’s name more moan than word. Hannibal smiled against his back and added another finger, spreading more lube to ease his way. His free hand slid between Will’s thighs, cupping his erection, smearing dampness from the head down the shaft, letting Will fuck eagerly into the tunnel of his fist.

This might have been enough. Just Will, seeking his own pleasure, writhing between Hannibal’s hands and panting. Hannibal thought he could watch such a sight for hours, wanted to memorize it and play it back later to commit to his sketchbook.

Will, however, had other plans. And Hannibal was nothing if not enraptured by him.

“That’s enough,” Will groaned, reaching back to claw at Hannibal’s hands. Hannibal pulled back to look at him, the curve of his spine, the plump flesh of his ass. He was dripping with lube, his thighs shiny and slick enough that Hannibal could have slid right between them. Will looked at him over his shoulders, his eyes bright and his smile soft. For once, he was still. His tail did not flick back and forth, instead it curved over his hip. His ears were perked up, yet not listening for danger. Only listening for Hannibal. “I’m not going to break, you know,” Will said softly, and Hannibal was suddenly aware that he’d frozen, still and staring.

“I know that,” Hannibal told him, reaching for his hips. Will sighed happily, pressing his chest against the bedsheets.

“I waited for you,” Will reminded him, “We don’t need to wait anymore.”

Hannibal hid a smile against Will’s shoulder. “No more waiting,” he promised, as he lined himself up and began to push forward.

Will’s breath caught in his throat. Hannibal pressed a hand to his stomach, holding him close as he rocked into him in slow, steady motions, easing the way. Will’s body opened to him bit by bit, until there was no more space between the two of them, and Will had begun to whimper.

“You’re so tense,” Hannibal murmured, running his free hand down Will’s side in a soft, gentle motion. Will’s stomach trembled beneath his grasp.

“Haven’t done this in a while,” Will murmured, “And never… Never like this. Never when it mattered.”

Hannibal pet down his side again, and Will snagged his hand as it reached his hip.

“Don’t,” Will hissed, “don’t do that thing you do. Don’t ply me with words and soften me up like you do your sycophants. Just… Be you. Be whatever you are, with me. The way you are when no one else is looking.”

Will didn’t know what he was asking for. But as Hannibal began to move, soft, careful thrusts, Will reached back to sink dulled claws into his arm.

“No,” He said, “Not like that. Give me  _ you _ .”

Hannibal grinned, though there was no one to see it. Will was a beautiful and vicious man. Hannibal wanted him like he had wanted no one else. He hauled him back with the grip on his stomach, fucking into his willing body until the bed creaked from the force of it.

Will gasped and moaned into the blankets, dropping his hands to claw at the sheets. “God,” he whined, “god,  _ Hannibal _ …”

There were pressure points all over a Hybrid body. Hannibal had only learned two. The second had been an intensely erogenous location for Will. The first…

Hannibal crouched over Will’s body, folding himself in half and pressing against him so that he could feel Will’s sweat-slick back against his chin. He pressed a kiss to the side of Will’s throat and received a desperate mewl in response.

“Yesss…” Will hissed, “Fucking… Just  _ do it _ , Hannibal!”

Hannibal brushed Will’s hair aside and sank his teeth into the sensitive place at the nape of his neck. For a second, Will tensed up, and then his whole body went limp, collapsing into Hannibal’s arms with a low whine.

Hannibal tasted copper against his tongue, but Will had asked for all of Hannibal, and that was exactly what he was going to get. He hauled Will back up, resistant as his body was, and fucked him in long, deep strokes that drew cries from him over and over again. Will took it all with high, pleased moans, shuddering when Hannibal pulled back to suck a bruise over the livid bite mark over his nape. His limbs came back to him slowly, at first just keeping up with Hannibal’s rough rhythm. After a moment, he stretched out, rolling his hips in slow undulations, guiding Hannibal to follow without a single word.

Hannibal wanted to tell him that he was beautiful, that he had never seen anyone or anything more lovely. There were a thousand words, sonnets, even. Italian and French and even his mother tongue, as rarely spoken as it was.

But words failed when held up to the picture that was Will. The slope of his spine, the curl of his hair. The harsh gasps for breath and the high whine as his orgasm built within him.

“Touch me,” Will demanded, and Hannibal obeyed, wrapping his hand around his leaking cock. Will made it only a few more thrusts, his claws tearing at the bedding as he came. His body was a tight, clenching heat around Hannibal. For one desperate, horrifying moment, Hannibal realized he loved him.

Hannibal’s own orgasm overtook him, exhausted him. He spilled into Will with ragged gasps, collapsing to the side afterwards, his body damp with sweat and fluid that he could not be bothered to wipe away.

Will crawled over him, smirking in that satisfied way he had. He collapsed atop Hannibal as if he thought he weighed nothing. Hannibal did not complain.

Will hummed against his throat, snuggling close, as if every place where their skin didn’t touch might fall to pieces. “Adequate,” he decided, drawing a chuckle from Hannibal. Hannibal pulled him closer.

“Well, I’ll have to keep practicing.”

Hannibal’s heart was thumping in his chest. He could not figure out if something had gone horribly wrong, or horribly right.


	8. Chapter 8

Things did not change, as much as Hannibal had worried they might. They slept side by side, read their books together by the fire. At night, they burrowed into each other’s skin, biting and kissing. And sometimes in the morning. And once, in the kitchen, Hannibal fucking Will over the sunny spot on the island he loved so much. 

But hunger could not lay dormant for long. Hannibal was not compulsive, not by far. He could, and had, resisted the desire to kill, to consume. Why, though, when there was no reason to? When one  _ could _ have whatever one liked, why shouldn’t they?

Hannibal slid sedatives into Will’s wine and kissed him gently on his sleeping brow before he went on the hunt. 

_____

Some creatures, Hannibal butchered and left as displays for the FBI to sniff at, portraits of the thoughts that filled his waking dreams. Other times, he salvaged every piece of flesh. A single body could last for weeks, if he prepared and stored it properly. The most recent death had been a display, a curly-haired beauty of a man spread out as if on an altar, a sacrifice to a god Hannibal only half believed in. Hannibal prefered to be worshipful of things he could touch and see, taste. 

Will borrowed the tablet more often now. Hannibal watched him with keen eyes every time he caught the familiar red layout of TattleCrime. He was uncomfortably clever, seeing through tawdry tabloid headlines.

“It’s reverant,” Will whispered, sprawled across Hannibal’s lap to be pet. He tapped the gruesome picture, opening it up to its full HD resolution. 

“The killer loved him?”

“The killer loved  _ someone _ ,” Will corrected, “but not the victim. The victim is a stand-in. Whoever he’s meant to represent, the killer can’t bring himself to harm them. But he still wants to see them, their insides, what makes them tick. He loves them enough to want to devour them, and enough to put the urge off onto someone else.”

“All that from a couple of pictures and a terribly crass headline?”

Will flushed, tapping out of the app. “Her reporting is terrible,” he muttered, “but Freddie Lounds has an eye for the best angles. She should have been a nature photographer. Would have earned her fewer enemies.”

Brilliant, beautiful Will. Hannibal wanted to crack open his skull and prod at all the rivers of neurons inside.

_____

Hannibal came home to a quiet household. This was not altogether uncommon; Will occasionally napped the afternoon away, waiting for Hannibal to return and coax him into the kitchen for dinner. Hannibal had a particular treat in mind tonight, in the mood to pamper Will with some of his favorites. Lemon braised salmon, with something rich and chocolatey for dessert, would no doubt go a long way in earning Will’s favor, though Hannibal liked to think he had Will’s favor regardless, nowadays. 

Hannibal made it three steps into the kitchen before he saw it; a sliver of light where there should have been none. He kept the pantry locked, ostensibly to protect his freezer from Will’s nighttime wanderings. Will’s sleepwalking had died down, but he had never tried to get into the pantry again, and therefore never brought up the lock to Hannibal. 

Hannibal hoped, briefly, that Will had gotten into his freezer. That he was coming home to a mess of wrappers and a spoiled lover, fattened on raw offal and the occasional sliver of thigh.

The freezer was untouched, the meat left where Hannibal had stored it. Everything in the pantry was in its rightful place, except the trap door. The trap door had been left wide open, the shadows beckoning. Hannibal felt cold. 

Will’s death had always been a possibility. He was a curious man, and there was that old saying about curiosity to consider. In the early days of their life together, Hannibal had fantasized about it, the exact staging, what pieces he would take of Will. How he would  _ taste _ .

He didn’t want it.

Not since his youth in Paris, watched over by his aunt and uncle, had there been someone Hannibal could not lose. Robert was long dead, Lady Murasaki sat secure in her family home in Japan, Chiyoh avoided her own shadows in Lithuania. Anyone else was expendable. Even Alana, who brought a smile to Hannibal’s face with her wit and her charm, even Bedelia, who perhaps saw more of him than Hannibal had yet shown to anyone else. He could cut them down as easy as breathing, and only spare a moment for mourning once the larder had run empty. 

But Will…

He did not want to kill Will. In fact, Hannibal realized, stepping down the steps into the dark hidden cellar, he had never wanted anything  _ less _ . He entertained the idea of allowing Will to live, of keeping him here, in the basement, away from the world, unable to destroy Hannibal as easily as he could now.

He imagined Will, bound in chains and withering away, resentful of Hannibal forcing him back into the kept life he’d longed so badly to escape from. 

They were going to go fishing. Hannibal had blocked out a week, come spring, and made plans for a boat. Will had been nearly beside himself with excitement, lost to his books and his lures. Hannibal had planned to make it as though Will was nothing more than any ordinary man, out on a vacation with his lover. Now, he would consume every last piece of Will, rather than curse him to a trapped and bound life. But he ached, already, and would surely ache further when the meat ran out and there was no more of Will to sustain him.

“You’re an idiot,” Will growled from the shadows. Hannibal saw the glint before he saw the man. The glint off the tag that marked him as inoculated for rabies. The tapetum lucidum of his eyes.

The glint of the knife. Hannibal couldn’t help a small smile, sorrowful as it was. This brilliant man would at least not go down without a fight, little good that it would do him. 

Will had tucked himself into a corner, crouched on top of one of Hannibal’s work table. The tip of Hannibal’s good chef’s knife was dug into the metal, and Will twisted it as he watched, reflecting the dim light that spilled from the trap door. 

“You’ve always been smarter than me,” Hannibal said softly. Will snorted.

“You don’t believe that.”

“I do,” Hannibal said, edging closer.

Rolling his eyes, Will hefted the knife. “Stop shifting around. You don’t think anyone is smarter than you.”

“There are different kinds of intelligence. You see things that I don’t.” If Hannibal was careful, if he was cautious, Will would not be able to fight him off. He might be able to get in a good slice with the knife, but Hannibal was stronger than him, faster. He’d fought more people.

“I see a lot of things that people don’t care to see.” Will straightened, his bright eyes narrowing. “Do you know that sedatives leave a bitter aftertaste in your mouth? I do.”

“I tried to sweeten them for you. I hoped at the very worst, you would think me bad with desserts.”

“You’ve never been bad at anything,” Will said. His scowl didn’t match the intensity of the compliment. “And once you’ve had them, you never forget the taste. I kept waiting for you to carve your way into me.”

Hannibal’s lip curled. “Others have already tried your palate.”

“Some men don’t relish the struggle.” Will dropped his legs over the edge of the table, dangling them there like a small child in a too-tall chair. He smiled cruelly, tilting his head. “I thought you were one of them, at first. I thought you didn’t want to make the effort. But I would wake unharmed in my bed. Alone. And then I thought, maybe you just didn’t trust me around the silver.”

“I’ve never wanted to hurt you,” Hannibal said gently.

“You did,” Will disagreed, “at first.”

“Not anymore.”

“I know,” Will assured him, “I know what you see when you look at me.”

“Then you know how much this is going to hurt me. How very sorry I am.”

Will laughed. “You aren’t going to kill me, Hannibal,” he said, gesturing with the knife.

“I won’t go to prison, Will.”

“No,” Will said, and his smile took on a slightly more amused tilt, “you won’t.”

Hannibal stilled. They looked at each other, two beasts in the bodies of men, two creatures somewhat apart from the world. Hannibal felt a sliver of hope where there had been none. “How long have you known?”

“Took you long enough.” Will held his hand out, dropping the knife. It fell with a clatter, and Hannibal, for once, did not give a damn about the price of a good blade. “I’ve always smelled the blood,” he said, dropping from the table to prowl closer to Hannibal, “but it wasn’t until after we began to treat the Encephalitis that I knew it for what it was. Human noses must be terrible, this place smells so strongly of death.”

“It’s been weeks, Will,” Hannibal said, his mouth dry.

“Months,” Will said, shrugging. He wrapped his arms around Hannibal’s neck. Hannibal placed his hands on Will’s hips. His voice did not shudder, though he still felt so very off-kilter.

“You’ve known, and you never said anything.”

“I didn’t want it to be the reason you loved me,” Will said with a slight shrug, “but I knew it was almost time when I saw the last body.

“Will…”

Will pressed up against him, chest to chest, pressing a lingering kiss to his cheek.

“I love you, too, Hannibal.”

_____

Hannibal brought Will a gift. He couldn’t help himself, not after Will’s revelation in the basement. 

Will drew too much attention to be brought out and about with Hannibal on his adventures, but Hannibal no longer had a need to drug him into compliance. He was still awake when Hannibal came home, his eyes heavy lidded with exhaustion, his face pressed into Hannibal’s pillow. 

“Ripper?” Will murmured, glancing towards the clock. “No, you’d have been out later.” 

It was barely midnight. Hannibal settled next to him, placing the box on the bed. Will straightened up, licking his lips.

“I can smell it,” He whispered, eyes bright, “is it for me?”

“Who else?”

“You’re not one to allow snacks in bed,” Will murmured as he lifted the lid, “particularly bloody ones-” he froze, staring down into the box. 

Much like a serial killer, Mason Verger kept trophies. He liked to touch them, to reminisce over his victims. While Hannibal carried something of each victim inside of him, consuming them so they remained with him forever, Mason preferred trophies of a more traditional sort. Of Will, he’d kept the collar, beautiful black leather, encrusted with what Hannibal suspected were real diamonds. It still bore the padlock that had kept it around Will’s throat, though the leather had been sliced through with something sharp. 

Will’s current collar rested by the door, no longer needed unless they ventured outside. No longer locked in place.

“He could have reclaimed you with this,” Hannibal said softly, “yet he didn’t. I wonder what threat you gave him to keep him from chasing you down.”

Will grinned wide, showing off his sharp fangs. “I stopped being afraid he’d feed me to his pigs,” he explained, “I told him he was welcome to do so, but if he touched me again I’d bite his dick off.”

“Crude,” Hannibal murmured with a fond smile.

“And yet, so very effective. Killing me would not have returned his virility. Easier to find someone else to play with.”

“Is that what he called it?”

“Mason was very fond of his games.”

“Then it’s good that I’ve set him up for a round of hide and seek.”

“His sister always wanted him to run away.” With a bitter laugh, Will reached into the box. He clutched the heart in his hands and bit into it, letting the blood stain his teeth.

_____

Jack came to Hannibal at work again, lingering in the waiting room until the last of Hannibal’s patients had left. He did not sit, though Hannibal offered him a chair. Instead, he wandered the room, at a slow pace, but pacing nonetheless.

“How long have you had Will?” Jack asked.

Hannibal gave it some thought. “Nearly a year now,” he said, surprising himself. Had it really been so little time?

“And before that, before he was yours?”

Hannibal hesitated, watching Jack where he stalked the edges of the rug. He could almost see the shape of the conversation, but he couldn’t fathom the reason. “He was living in a shelter.”

“Yes, you mentioned he was a rescue. They’re not meant to be there long-term, are they?”

“No. Will was pushing the boundaries of how long the shelter could provide for him.”

“And he was prone to fleeing.”

“He was,” Hannibal agreed. “Most Hybrids would, I think, coming from a lonely shelter with no one there to love them.”

“Did you know that Will had been placed with multiple families before you?”

Hannibal sat down at his desk. He pulled his scalpel into his lap, running his fingers over the blunt side of the blade. “You’ve done your homework.”

“As much of it as I could,” Jack muttered, irritated, “The Vet doesn’t keep records on return reasons.”

“Well, Jack, as fond as I am of Will, he  _ is _ an older Cat. People like youth and trainability when adopting a Pet, not an older male set in his ways and mannerisms. They get frustrated when the older ones don’t settle in quite as easily. It takes time and patience.” Usually, Pets only reached their forties or later if they had been with the family since childhood. Will would have been up for recall in a few years, solely due to his age. 

“That’s true,” Jack agreed, though he did not seem entirely convinced. “Tell me, in all the time you’ve had him, has Will ever shown a propensity for violence?”

There it was, that subject Jack had hesitated to breach. Hannibal hummed softly. “What are you getting at, Jack? What has brought you to my door today?”

“We identified a hair we found at a recent crime scene. Not a Ripper case, a murder in Towson. It was Cat hair, although we couldn’t get anything more from it. Curly, dark.”

Hannibal did not falter, did not allow his pulse to race or his hands to tremble. The damned  _ hair _ . It got everywhere, no matter what Hannibal did. Will shed constantly, though he never seemed to have any less than a full, thick head of curls. He needed trims more often than most men, his hair growing quick as a weed. 

“Will is hardly the only curly-haired Cat in all of Baltimore,” Hannibal pointed out. His grip on the scalpel tightened. 

“No, he isn’t. And we could be looking at anyone who’d so much as brushed up against one,” Jack admitted, “but when I attempted to interview a family that had previously owned your Will, all they would say was that they were glad to be rid of him.”

Hannibal allowed a moment for the words to hang heavily in the air. “Pets don’t kill, Jack. Hybrid Cats are not known for their violence.”

“Only because the vicious ones are weeded out early. But there was a case in Minnesota, just a few months ago. Teenage girl was getting ready to go off to college and the family Dog went nuts. They’d had him for two generations, but all of a sudden he...” Jack sighed, burying his face in his hands. “I worry about you, Hannibal. I’d like to think we’ve become friends, in these past few weeks. I wouldn’t want to see you be hurt.”

“I appreciate your concern, Jack, but Will has never been a danger to me.”

Jack eyed Hannibal, searching his face for any hint of a lie, and then nodded. “Alright. If you’re sure.”

_____

“He suspects you.”

Will’s fur all stood on end, his tail puffed up and twitching as he paced the length of the kitchen. Hannibal slid the knife block another inch further from the end of the counter.

“Somehow, I don’t believe he does.” Jack certainly suspected  _ Will _ , but Hannibal had earned enough of his favor to avoid that attention, at least so far.

“He  _ should _ , if you’re going to be trailing my debris behind you wherever you go.” Will reached up and gave his curls a vicious enough tug that Hannibal was forced to go to him, holding him still by the wrists and placing a kiss against the curls he loved so much.

“He trusts me. He calls me his friend. And your hair was not found at a scene bearing a more surgical touch. He has no reason to suspect me.”

“Beyond the fact that you shed Cat hair wherever you go.” Will drew himself away, wrapping his arms around his chest. “We should leave.”

Hannibal shook his head. “Will, I’m not leaving my home because Jack Crawford has suddenly become skeptical of typical Hybrid behavior. Who is likely to believe him?”

“People will believe anything,” Will growled, “especially if it gives them a chance to lash out at someone smaller than them.”

Hannibal reached for him again, one hand this time, gently curved over his shoulder. “Will. I would not let anything happen to you. I promise, if I thought you were in danger, we would leave.”

Will gave him a skeptical glare. “You’d better be right.”

_____

Jack began their next conversation with “I understand why you would feel protective of him.”

Hannibal was a cautious man, much as Will may have thought him otherwise. He had an alibi for this body. Everyone, including the photographer for the society pages, had seen Hannibal attend the opera the night before. None of them had seen him slip back out through the unlocked and unmonitored employee entrance. He did not always stay to mingle, particularly now that he had Will waiting at home for him, and his absence afterwards would go unnoticed. 

“Jack,” Hannibal said, indicating the mangled corpse with one gloved hand, “Will is skittish and shy. He would sooner flee from a strange man than assault him. You cannot expect me to believe him capable of such cruelty.”

“I’ve seen weaker men capable of murder,” Jack said, glaring down at the body, “and Hybrids are not very emotionally stable to begin with. You ever see an  _ old _ Hybrid, Dr. Lecter?”

“One. My tailor’s cat. I believe she’ll be 68 in the spring.”

Jack let out a low whistle. “Oldest I ever saw was 46. They get temperamental after that age, twitchy. Less well-behaved.”

Perhaps they simply tired of a life of obedience. Perhaps their age caught up with them, and they craved the chance to be left alone. Hannibal kept silent, waiting for Jack to make his point.

“Older Hybrids, they start to get a little rough. A little violent. It’s in all of them. Science could only go so far to breed out the bad genetics. Maybe some of them start to show it a little sooner than others.”

“Will is not even thirty yet,” Hannibal reminded him, “still young, still able-bodied.”

“People get attached to their Pets,” Jack said. He did not appear to have heard Hannibal. He was building up, rolling ahead on the theory he’d latched on to. To catch such a unique and vicious killer would be the highlight of Jack’s career. He had little time for any counter arguments. “They want to keep them safe. Treat them almost as part of the family. Especially lonely people.”

This was a level of presumption Hannibal could not stand for. “I don’t consider myself to be lonely, Jack. Not even before Will came to stay with me.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Jack corrected himself hastily, flustered. Perhaps he was not used to objections or arguments. Hannibal softened his tone, gentling his features.

“Baltimore is a large city, Jack, with a lot of Cats. Anyone could wander by and catch a bit of hair on their clothing. Even the victim themselves may have brushed up against something.”

“Right,” Jack muttered, glaring down at the body, “right, of course.”

_____

“You’re an idiot.”

Hannibal looked up from his cutting board with a wry smile. “Why now, dearest?”

Will pulled a face, pulling himself up onto the counter space Hannibal had yet to utilize. “You only call me that when you’re trying to patronize me.”

“I would  _ never _ .”

“You would  _ always _ .” Will met his gaze with a stern glare that soon cracked under Hannibal’s visible amusement. Will stifled a smile in the palm of his hand. “Don’t  _ do  _ that.”

“Do what, dearest?”

Will reached out with a bare foot, prodding Hannibal in the hip hard enough that his next cut of carrot came out wobbly and misshapen. It was hardly proper knife safety, but neither of them were men unused to the razor-sharp edge of violence. 

“Make me smile when I’m trying to be mad at you,” Will told him, forcing his glare back into place.

“Perhaps if you weren’t mad at me so very often, I wouldn’t see the need to appease you.”

“Perhaps if you made less stupid decisions, I wouldn’t have to be so mad at you.”

“We can’t have a dog, Will. My lifestyle only allowed for you because you were intelligent enough for us both to have our own space.”

Will snorted. “Yeah, see how well  _ that _ turned out.”

“You’ll find  _ I’m _ not the one who-”

“It’s not about the dog, Hannibal!” Will’s hand smacked hard against the countertop. Hannibal’s knife paused on the cutting board. 

“I understand that you are unhappy about my interaction with Jack-”

“Your interaction with Jack is going to get you  _ killed _ .”

“Actually, I believe it’s customary to give a trial first. And Maryland hasn’t had the death penalty for many years.” Hannibal’s attempt at callous humour fell flat; Will looked like he would very much like to gut Hannibal with his own blade.

“They’ll take you to trial and then they’ll lock you up. Put you away in a teeny tiny box for the rest of your days. Could you live like that?”

“Yes,” Hannibal said simply. Will startled. He pulled his tail into his lap, fidgeting roughly with the end of it.

“No you couldn’t,” he accused, looking vaguely hurt that Hannibal would lie to him like that. Hannibal reached out for Will’s hand, pulling his claws away from the thinning fur at the tip.

“Stop that, you’ll pull all your fur out. And I’ll find it in our sauce tonight,” Hannibal added.

Will snorted, ducking his head to hide his smile. “You hate feeling trapped,” he reminded Hannibal, “you like to move, to think, to learn. Your mind would wither and die.”

“I have my memories,” Hannibal told him, “the halls of my memory palace are vast. I’ve stored everything that might be relevant, and I can recall it with little effort.”

“What sort of things?”

“The pages of my favorite book.” On a whim, Hannibal leaned in, pressing a kiss to the soft skin of Will’s wrist. “The smell of you, wrapped in my sheets. The sound of your laughter when you know you’ve outsmarted me.” Another kiss to Will’s temple. Will grinned at him, well aware of his own brilliance. “The way you stick your tongue out when you’re concentrating.”

“I do not!” Will protested, shoving lightly at Hannibal’s chest. Hannibal stood his ground, cupping Will’s hands in his. 

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“You can’t promise me that,” Will reminded him.

“They’d need evidence to convict me first, dear Will, and they’ve never found a speck.

“Not quite,” Will murmured, “now you have him searching for owners of Cats with curly brown hair,” 

“And their friends,” Hannibal added, “And any person who may come into contact with them. It could just as easily be our dear friend Dr. Marx.”

Will sighed, leaning back on the counter. He hooked one leg around Hannibal’s, pulling him in. “What happens to me, hmm? If you go to jail?”

“You’re never going to find out,” Hannibal promised him, pressing a kiss to the corner of his smile.

_____

The body on the table was not one of Hannibal’s.

It was not one of Hannibal’s, and yet here it was, on the table, missing kidneys. 

“The killer clawed him open,” Jack said, sounding unnaturally pleased given the situation, “these are scratch marks, from the shoulder to the sternum.”

“Did you find any DNA?” Hannibal asked.

“No,” Jack admitted, “And the closest thing we have to an eyewitness is a homeless junkie who swears he only saw a red-headed woman go by.”

“Freddie Lounds does love a good story,” Hannibal mused.

“Well, she’s been brought in for questioning. I’d  _ like _ to question your Will, if you’d allow it.”

There were no laws for how to deal with Hybrid criminals. There had never  _ been _ any Hybrid criminals. Oh, certainly, the younger ones might swat or swipe a candy bar, but they were not considered to be capable of understanding crime and its consequences. Mild offenses tended to lead to a fine for their owner, who was meant to be responsible for them. Hybrids were not reliable enough to be considered proper witnesses for crimes, and there was some worry that such interrogation could be traumatizing to their delicate minds. They had a larger range of intelligence than humans, and not all of them were as sturdy as Will.

It was a singular blessing. Jack could not procure a warrant for Will’s arrest, only an order for his recall if he was seen to be violent. He could not interrogate Will without Hannibal’s permission. Hannibal had no doubt that the loopholes in Hybrid law would close one day, but they hadn’t yet.

“He was home with me all night, Jack. I would swear to it.” He’d slept so solidly, though. Almost as if he’d been drugged...

“I know you would,” Jack said gently, “but maybe I could talk to him? Just ask him a couple of questions. We could do it somewhere he felt safe. Your house, maybe?”

“I’ll consider it.”

_____

“Now which of us is the idiot?” Hannibal was already burning when he walked through the door. Anger, yes, vitriolic at the way their safety had been compromised. Another thread ran under that one, though, another heat.  _ Will _ had done this, had apparently ripped a man apart with his  _ bare hands _ on Hannibal’s behalf. Hannibal most definitely wanted to kill him, at this point, but he might express his devotion before Will bled out.

Will was too clever to let Hannibal get close. He disappeared into the kitchen, where he skirted the edges of the room, always just out of reach, as he had been the first day Hannibal brought him home. 

He’d sharpened his claws for the act, and he held them up now, showing off the tapered points. “It’s not like a fingerprint. They aren’t going to chase me down by comparing the keratin amounts.”

“But there are other things you can leave at a crime scene.”

Will glared. He kept the kitchen island between them. “You really  _ do _ think I’m stupid, don’t you.”

“Reading about a crime is not the same as committing one.”

“The only hair I left behind belonged to the  _ victim _ . I wore a loose hat and tight pants, and I brought one of your terrible plastic suits. No one saw me. More importantly, no one saw  _ you _ .”

“That will not stop them from tracking you down.”

“No, but it points them away from  _ you _ for a few more days.”

They’d reached a stalemate. Will looked righteous in his outrage. Hannibal could not bear to hurt him, and yet the venom would not subside.

“I wish I’d sharpened them on your stupid chaise,” Will spat at him.

“That chaise is older than the both of us.”

“And you would have cared more about  _ that _ than about anything I’ve had to say for weeks.”

“You would see me lose  _ everything _ . All that I have worked for.”

“Not quite  _ everything _ ,” Will murmured, and looked hurt enough that the faintest stirrings of shame twisted in Hannibal’s gut.

“I’ve made a life for myself here, Will. I’ve made a life for both of us.”

“I’m leaving, Hannibal. With or without you.” 

Hannibal edged closer. Will had stopped evading him, standing firm. “And how far do you think you’ll get, traveling alone, looking as you do?”

Will cocked his head, stared into Hannibal. “Did you know that there are people who will remove excess appendages, for a price?”

Hannibal stopped breathing, for a moment. Will’s smile faltered, bitter and broken.

“I’d still be able to hear. I’d wear my hair long, to cover up the holes and the places where human ears should be.”

“They’d mutilate you, Will.”

“Small price to pay for freedom.” Will did not look like a man approaching freedom. He looked like a man approaching the gallows. Hannibal reached for him, and Will let his fingers wrap around his arm.

“Back-alley men with dirty tools. You’d die of your infections before you found a doctor who would treat them and keep your secrets.”

Will tilted his head up. He was manipulative that way, making himself seem small and delicate next to Hannibal. Hannibal loved him for it. “Come with me, Hannibal. Your days here were numbered the day Jack Crawford walked into your office.”

Hannibal had tried not to know it, but the truth had been just beneath the surface, waiting for acknowledgement. He pulled Will against his chest, folding around him as if he could envelope him completely. He would keep Will inside him, if he could. If it would not cost him the vibrancy that was Will.

“A few days,” Hannibal bargained, “One last effort. If I am to be known, let it come with a price.”

Will laughed against his shoulder. “Always so dramatic.”

_____

Jack came to dinner. How could he not, with all his burning curiosity?

“I worry for Will,” Hannibal had told him, “I don’t believe him capable of violence, Jack, but he’s been so very strange lately.”

They sat around the table, Jack at Hannibal’s right hand. It had been Will’s idea, reinforcing his comfort and self-assurance. Hannibal had served what passed as pork loin, with a rich brown sauce drizzled overtop and tomato rosettes decorating the vegetable medley. Jack praised the meal wholeheartedly, while Will picked and prodded at his food like a recalcitrant child. 

“Have you been continuing in your research, Will?” Jack set his fork aside, nursing a sip of wine and staring at Will as if he could see right through him. 

“I don’t research anything, Agent Crawford. I merely pay attention to the news.”

“First Hybrid I’ve ever known to do so.”

“Maybe if we taught more of them to read, that might change,” Will said, in a voice thick with cloying sweetness. 

“Most Hybrids don’t have the capability,” Jack disagreed, “if tested, many of them would fall well beyond the average range for intelligence. Some of them never develop beyond the childhood stages.”

“Nature or nurture?” Will murmured, and Hannibal could see the tension building up in his body. His hands clutched tight to his silverware, and Hannibal intervened with a casual laugh.

“Well, we are very lucky to have Will as a conversational partner, instead,” he said, drawing attention back to himself.

“Yes,” Jack said, “Lucky. Tell me, Will, are you aware of some of the more recent deaths we’ve been investigating?”

“No,” Will lied, “why don’t you tell me?”

Jack took another bite of his meal and then set his utensils down, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. “I wouldn’t want to upset you. Some of the facts are gruesome.”

Will flashed a smile. “I can handle gruesome.”

From the look on Jack’s face, that was exactly what he was afraid of. “We found a man in Towson, ripped to pieces. Parts of him are still unidentifiable. What we  _ could _ identify was a hair. Curly. Brown. Cat.”

Will twined his fingers through a lock of his own hair, twisting it round and round his index finger with a thoughtful little grin. “Brown hair is one of the most common colors, both in humans and Hybrids. And there’s only so much you can get from a strand of hair, isn’t there? No way to track down anyone who might have come into contact with a dark haired Hybrid. We’re prone to shedding, you know.”

“So I’m told,” Jack said, with a dark glance towards Hannibal. Hannibal merely took a sip of his wine. This was Will’s night, after all. A compromise for indulging Hannibal’s whims. “It’s easier if we have a suspect already,” Jack continued.

Will leaned forward, his elbow on the table and his chin in his hands. “And do you have a suspect, Agent Crawford?”

“The next body,” Jack said, raising his voice a little, “was found with claw marks up and down his torso. Some of his organs had been literally torn from him.”

“Interesting,” Will mused, “but, according to you, Hybrid’s aren’t intelligent enough for the amount of effort it would take to do such harm.”

“Not all of them.” 

They stared at each other across the table, Will with a soft smile, Jack with fury. Perhaps Jack had intended to talk peacefully, but Will’s obvious delight had riled him up more with every passing second. 

Will stood, wiping his hands off on his napkin. “May I be excused?” He asked Hannibal.

“No,” Jack barked, “Where do you go while Dr. Lecter is sleeping?”

Tilting his head, Will stared at Jack. “It’s rude to interrupt,” he said, “and we don’t tolerate rudeness here.”

It was fast, much faster than Hannibal had expected it to be. One moment, Will was on his feet by his plate, the next he had gripped the carving knife and launched himself over the table. 

He had not been granted a chance to observe Will’s first kill, a thought that haunted Hannibal, leaving a gaping hole in his mind palace. The nature of Will’s dependence had ensured that Hannibal was present for every significant moment that came upon him, and to have missed such an event was more than regretful, closer to devastating.

Will’s second kill, however, made up for it quite nicely.

There was no reason to be neat or tidy. The trail would eventually have brought Jack to Hannibal, as much as Hannibal would have liked to deny it. They would be out of the country before anyone found Jack’s body, so there was no need to do anything but sit back and enjoy the sight.

Jack was a large man, brawnier than Will’s slender frame, but Will had a Cat’s twisting reflexes. He slid out of every hold Jack managed to get on him, slicing and stabbing every chance he got. The carving knife was not made for smooth cuts or deep stabs, but anything would do with the force Will was putting behind it. Jack’s wide, terrified eyes found Hannibal’s over Will’s shoulder. Hannibal took another sip of his wine. 

In the end, Will managed to carve a long line across Jack’s thigh, and that was what brought him to the ground. Will crawled over him, crouched on his chest, a red-splattered, panting thing. 

“I believe he’ll exsanguinate now, Will,” Hannibal murmured, but Will was not done. He carved Jack open like a hunting prize, peeling his soaked clothes away from his chest to dig the knife in between his ribs.

The light left Jack’s eyes sometime between the first cut and the seventh, when Will began to peel the skin back with a vicious glee.

“You’ve finished him, dear Will.”

Will stabbed the knife into Jack’s chest again, and then a second time. He kept at it, breath coming in harsh pants, until Hannibal crouched behind him and gripped both his wrists gently. The knife clattered to the floor as Hannibal pulled Will back against his chest, planting a kiss to his jaw. “It’s done, Will. You’re safe. He is not the men you’ve substituted him for.”

Will flinched almost violently at the reminder, but he was too tired to argue. He settled back into Hannibal’s lap, ruining his suit with viscera. Hannibal found he didn’t care.

_____

Their home was settled on an isolated private beachfront, with a dock for the boat that they would use to grab groceries from the mainland. Will liked to go down to the very edge of the dock and lie on his belly, very, very still. Sometimes fish came by, sometimes they didn’t. Hannibal had purchased him a fishing pole, and he had been ecstatic about it, but waiting for prey was an instinct Hannibal hoped Will never got over. He would lie there for hours, growing bronze in the sun, tail twitching with glee. 

Today, Will was alternating his attention between the fish and his tablet, scanning articles faster than Hannibal could keep up.

“Some people think I’ve held you hostage,” Will murmured, “It’s causing a bit of a revolution, actually. People are more suspicious of Hybrids now, but they also give more thought to the potential of their intelligence.”

“And in turn, Hybrids will put more faith in themselves. They may test their skills on their own.” Hannibal sat down beside him, leaning over to press a kiss to his curls, right between his twitching ears. “You’ve founded a movement, dear Will. A moment for the history books. Are you pleased?”

Will tilted his head back to grin at him, sharp fangs on display. “Immensely.”

**Author's Note:**

> Art provided by [@KKrey9Art](https://twitter.com/KKrey9art/status/1187969057531629569)! Please go shower them in love. I had some issues embedding directly from twitter, so I did a work-around, but if anyone knows how to do that, please let me know!


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